


How to Stop Pining Over a Ninja (and Maybe Gain a Boyfriend While You’re at it)

by DraketheDragon



Series: Servant Shenanigans [7]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: And I thought naming Mordred's various bits of armor was bad, Angst, BUT THIS IS THE SAME STORY, But mostly pining Proto, F/F, F/M, Fuuma's got him beat, Genderfluid Fujimaru Ritsuka, Have I mention Fuuma's oblivious?, He is very oblivious, Hurt/Comfort, I am signing myself up for so much research, I am very sorry for the trouble, I know I complain about the lack of Fuuma content, I think that's all for now!, I'm going to fix that, I'm taking a break from writing angst to write, Idiots in Love, Jack is a creepy murder child, M/M, More angst, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Fuuma, Oh yes, Prob should add those too before things get real, Rare Pair, Return of the funny shirts, So I accidentaly deleted the first version because I was confused why it was also in my drafts, Tags May Change, The chulainn's are basically siblings, There is an actual plot, Will add ships and characters as they appear, anyway back to actual tags, but Proto doesn't have any cannon content soo, he/him pronouns for Mordred, jk, no I don't take constructive critism, nothing changed, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 105,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraketheDragon/pseuds/DraketheDragon
Summary: It was a bright light, burning, painful as he coalesced. A familiar feeling, a memory that stayed just out of reach, no matter how hard he stretched to grab it. Then it came to him, sharp, sudden, with his first breath, tasting of burnt rubber and fire and smoke. A summoning, this was a summoning.Cu Chulainn opened his eyes to a view of a city in ruins.
Relationships: Cú Chulainn | Lancer (Fate/Prototype)/Fuuma Kotarou | Assassin, Cú Chulainn | Lancer/Heroic Spirit EMIYA | Archer, Frankenstein's Monster | Berserker of Black/Mordred | Saber of Red, Fujimaru Ritsuka/Mash Kyrielight | Shielder, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Servant Shenanigans [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854901
Comments: 111
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Bursts through door* I'm back~! Anyway, I would like to thank everyone who decided to pick this up, whether it's because you've read my works before or saw the ship and though "What?? The?? Heck??" and decided to try it out. Thank you for giving this ship a chance. *Cackles maniacally* I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!
> 
> P.S. You don't have to read the stories before this to understand what's going on, but I do reference events that happen previously.  
> P.P.S. Because funny chapter summaries are my jam : A summoning, farming is really dark if you think about it, the Chulainn’s are definitely siblings, movie night, Halloween (yes I know it’s getting to Christmas, but timeline wise this falls around Halloween), and morning.  
> P.P.P.S. So funny story, apparently I had a version of this in my drafts and I was very confused, so IK posted this, them deleted this, and apparently I deleted the wrong one. whoops. Anyway, this is the same story as the previous posting, and for everyone who commented/kudoed/bookmarked this, I'm sorry about that and thank you for all your support!

_It was a bright light, burning, painful as he coalesced. A familiar feeling, a memory that stayed just out of reach, no matter how hard he stretched to grab it. Then it came to him, sharp, sudden, with his first breath, tasting of burnt rubber and fire and smoke. A summoning, this was a summoning._

_Cu Chulainn opened his eyes to a view of a city in ruins. A sky blackened by smoke, buildings toppled and strewn across the ground. Piles of trash and rubble rose like hills. A street, pavement, scorched and coated in streaks of ash. Fires danced in purples and reds and oranges, faded embers and raging infernos, the only light in a nightmare. And it was hot, a blazing heat that had him roasting in clothes meant for Scatheth’s Castle and Ireland’s cold winters. Gae Bolg was in his hand, no, not Gae Bolg. The balance was off, too light in his palms. He already missed his spear like a severed limb._

_In front of him stood three people, all shorter than him. One, about a half a foot smaller than him, stood in a white uniform and dark skirt, fabric ripped and smudged grey with ash. Her eyes were amber, her hair orange, on her hand blazed with the command seals, brighter than the fires around them lighting up the night. His Master. And beside her was a purple haired girl, in dark armor, gazing at him with wide eyes. And behind her was another girl, no, a young woman, with similar eyes as his Master, but with white hair falling down her back. Her clothes were ripped and torn, blood smeared across one cheek._

_Cu worked his jaw, then grinned, as cheerful as he could muster in this hell hole. “I am Cu Chulainn from Ulster, a Lancer class Servant. It’s nice to meet you, Master!”_

_She blinked at him, then smiled, something small and quivering. “It’s nice to meet you too, Cu. I’m Fujimaru Ritsuka, but you can call me Gudako. I’m new to this, so I’ll do my best!” She drew her shoulders back, and forced another grin, this one a bit wider. Cu stepped out of the summoning circle, no, he stepped off a shield, and walked forwards. He set the fake Gae Bolg on his shoulder, and held out his hand. She grabbed it and shook, hard, despite the fear shining in her eyes. “This is Mash,” she gestured to the purple haired girl, “She’s a Demi-Servent. And this,” she gestured at the white haired woman, “Is Olga Marie.”_

_Cu turned his grin on the two of them. “Nice to meet you!”_

_Mash smiled slightly and waved, before messing with her hair nervously. Olga Marie opened her mouth to say something, then sighed. “Good job Fujimaru, it seems you’ve managed to summon a decent Servant. But let’s go two more times, I refuse to leave anything to chance.”_

_Gudako nodded. “Yes, Director!” She stood in front of the shield, hand up, the familiar chant flailing from her lips._

_Cu moved to Mash’s side, bent down to whisper, “Two more? I’m not fighting alone?”_ _  
_ _Mash shook her head, “No. We’ll explain everything later.”_

_He nodded and leaned away, feeling the grin spread across his face. Companions, other heroes from myth, powerful and dangerous from places he only knew the names off. Maybe he would be able to get a spar in with them. Just to fight by their side would be amazing._

_A light burst from the shield, shooting up towards the sky, bright white, blue at the edges, rapidly turning rainbow at the base. Gudako stumbled back a bit, her skirt blown back by the violent wind, and Cu narrowed his eyes, trying to see the form beyond the brightness. The light faded, revealing a man, taller than Cu, with wider shoulders. His skin was tanned, his hair slicked back, his eyes grey. A red jacket, black shirt, black pants tucked into dark boots. “Archer class Servant,” he intoned, “I have been summoned and come at your request.” His gaze flitted from Gudako to Olga Marie to Mash, and then finally to Cu. His eyes widened, the hard look dropping from his face. “Cu?”_

_It was an oddly vulnerable sound from a man he’d never met._

_He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Sorry, do I know you?”_

_And the man’s face closed off, as if it had never been open. Gudako coughed, “Uh, thank you, Archer, for coming. Is there a name you want me to call you by, or do you just want to be called Archer?”_

_“Archer will work for now,” he said, stepping down from the shield, his face a blank mask. His eyes glanced to Cu then slipped away again, a frown forming a crease between his brows. Cu rocked back on his heels, not sure what he had done to warrant such a response. Mash glanced at him and smiled softly, apologetically. He shrugged._ _  
_ _“Come on, Fujimaru, we can’t stay here much longer.” Olga Marie snapped, glancing around nervously._

_Gudako nodded, “Yeah, right.” She lifted her arm again, her legs shaking as she began to speak. This time the burst of light was quicker to arrive, quicker to fade, no rainbow sparks at its base. It revealed a boy, smaller than Cu, smaller than Gudako, with red hair covering most of his face and a tattoo crawling up his right shoulder, ink dark against his pale skin. He bowed, bending at his waist, and spoke, his voice deeper then Cu expected, crackling softly like fire. “Servant, Assassin. Fuuma Kotarou. I might look like this, but please don’t let that bother you . . .” his voice trailed off._

_They’d all heard it, the scrap of metal against rock._

_Cu spun around, the false Gae Bolg too light in his palms as he slipped from relaxed to guard. He hoped it wouldn’t shatter on impact with his strikes. Archer moved, two swords appearing in his palms. Olga Marie stumbled back, lifting her hand, black light beading at the tip. Mash jerked into action, grabbing the shield, twisting to place it between Gudako and the skeletons pooling from the shadowed crevasses of broken buildings. Faintly, a clink of chain, and Cu glanced around. Fuuma had disappeared, and Cu couldn’t sense him. He hoped the Assassin hadn’t run, but somehow he doubted he had. He’d answered the call, after all._

_“Master!” Mash cried, her voice shaky, “you’re orders please!”_

_“Uh . . . yeah! Yeah. Mash, I want you to keep the Director safe. Archer, Cu, Fumma, do you think you can take down the skeletons? I'll support you the best I can!”_

_As if in reply, something bright and shining shot through the air, cracking against a skeleton's head, fracturing the skull. The chain was yanked back, and Cu grinned, “Took the words right out of my mouth!” He lunged, a blur of speed, the shaft of the false Gae Bolg spinning away attacks and pulverizing bone into dust. He could hear Archer, his quiet growl and he cut and slashed with his dual swords. A whisper in the air, and Cu moved just as a knife buried itself into the skull of another skeleton. He grinned, even wider._

_A fight, fine warriors by his side, and a Master who didn’t seem half bad. What more could a guy want?_

Proto stumbled back, dancing away as arrow after arrow cracked against the shaft of the real Gae Bolg, no longer a false copy. He grinned, ignoring the trickle of blood against his cheek, and rushed forwards, feet kicking up grass as he did so. He was on them in a flash, Gae Bolg opening a red line across one's throat, while the other dropped her bow and drew a sword. She lunged, and he blocked, sparks spitting from the contact. He met her eyes, blank and unknowing, all the spirit sucked out. These weren’t real people, simaculrums maybe, but they looked so real that sometimes it almost hurt.

Not that Proto really cared, he’d killed before. And these people were his enemy, what was he supposed to do? Let them live?

He pushed up against her strike, spinning Gae Bolg to crack the tip against her cheek. She stumbled away, but he didn’t follow, the loud impending footsteps of doom warned him not to. He lunged back as Hercules charged forwards, his roar splitting the air, and Proto turned and sped off to finish the bleeding centaur Hercules had left behind. He didn’t have to, Jack was already on it, dicing up his limbs with maniacal glee. He left her too it, and ran back to Gudao’s side, vibrating eagerly for the next wave. There was always a next wave.

By Lugh, this was almost worth waiting a week for action.

A roar, more beastal than Hercules own, and Cu looked up. Wyverns, delightful. Definitely worth the wait. He could sit back and watch the show. “Mommy,” Jack wailed, already by Gudao’s side, pulling on his uniform, “Why’d it have to be wyverns? They’re big scaly mean bullies.” She pouted and stuck her tongue out at the flying monstrosities.

Gudao bent to grin at her, “Can’t help what we face, can we? Don’t worry, you can go on dissecting centaurs and Proto can go back to fighting archers, okay? We’ll get the other squad on it.” He straitened, “Switching positions, Lion King, Mash, Kotarou, you’re on the wyverns. Herc, cover our backs. Jack, Proto, keep the ground troops occupied.”

“Kay Mommy!” Jack squealed, rushing forwards, her maniacal grin back on her face as she drew two more knives.

“Got it Gudao!” Proto saluted and sped off, feet skipping over the ground. He hoped to finish these off quickly, he desperately wanted to watch the other force in action. There was just something so enthralling about watching Fuuma work, it had rapidly become one of his favorite things after summoning, threatening his enjoyment of the battle. And he was certain Jack would love to get back at the wyverns as soon as Fuuma finished grounding them. She did so love ripping them into little pieces, although he had no clue why.

A whistle through the air, he ducked, feeling the arrow part through his bangs and slip past his ear. Shit. He was getting distracted. If Scatheth had seen him, she would have whacked him upside the head. He shook himself, then jerked into action, spinning Gae Bolg around his fingers as arrows shattered against the metal shaft. He finished his run in a slide, kicking out the feet of one archer, Gae Bolg slamming into the shins of the other two. He hopped up, Gae Bolg plunging through the chest of the first one he knocked down. The third fired from the ground and the other stumbled to her feet, drawing a sword. He knocked her blade away, twisted out of the way of another arrow, gritted his teeth as the second’s sword slipped past his guard to cut across his side. Damn it. He was going to get blood on his shirt now. Great. He jerked Gae Bolg up, the tip slamming against her jaw. She stumbled back, another hiss through the air, he shifted to the side, watching it shoot past him, grazing the sword woman's arm. She cursed, and he took the opportunity to slam Gae Bolg against her wrist. There was a crack, her sword plopped to the ground, and then Gae Bolg was buried in her chest.

He yanked it out ignoring the spray of blood, then turned, ready to deal with the final enemy. Only to discover that Jack had already caught her, busy carving up her insides. “Jack,” he said, “Jack no.” 

She looked at him and frowned. “But I want to play with mommy.”

He winced, killing in the heat of battle was one thing, but happily chopping up the bodies after they’d been slayed was different. By Lugh, Jack was sure as hell something. “Jack, that’s not . . .” he gave up, sighing heavily. “Jack, Gudao’s your mom, remember? Now, please leave the poor dead woman alone and let’s focus on the wyverns.”

Jack stood, kicking the woman slightly. It was too much, her body crumbled, scattering across the ground. “They aren’t even real,” she pouted, a trace of disappointment running through the words. “Besides,” her pout turned into a small smirk, yellow eyes glinting like lamps in the dark, “you just want to watch Fuuma.”

He could feel the heat sear his face, and he scowled down at her. “I do not.”

“Do too~!”

“What do you know? You’re a kid!”

Her playful expression dropped, “Some of us are old enough to know.”

He groaned, running his hand through his hair, and turned to see how the rest of his companions were doing. The reason why Gudao hadn’t stopped Jack became apparent, he was busy healing Hercules as the Berserker ripped through the small army that had tried to flank them. The Lion King waited on her horse, eyes locked on the sky above, and Mash was ready, shield up. Which meant Fuuma was . . . yep, and Proto could have cursed, because he’d missed the launch. But that was fine, this was the good bit. 

Fuuma danced, because Proto could never describe what he did as fighting. What Proto did was fight, wild, brutal, with a style designed for maximum effect. Hercules fought. Jack fought. The Lion King fought. Fuuma danced, flickering from one wyvern to the next, targeting wings and tails even as they twisted and snapped at him in mid air. One of them had already fallen, it’s wings cut into ribbons, a hole in it’s chest from where the Lion King had finished it off. But Fuuma still moved, a blur of red and black and white, his weapons shining silver in his hands. A final slice, his chain shot out, wrapping around the throat of another wyvern as he jumped from his previous target towards the next. The abandoned wyvern fell, it’s wings ruined beyond repair, and Proto sighed as Fuuma began his dance again. It was like watching a bonfire, trying to catch the edges of the flames, only left with the searing afterimages. Dangerous and graceful, impossible to not watch.

Beside him, Jack snickered. “Someone's in love!”

Proto scowled down at her, “Shut up.”

Her only response was to cackle and clap her bloody hands in glee. 

“Good job guys,” Gudao said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “We’re slowly getting through these things one by one!” He grinned, a far cry from the scared and uncertain Master he’d been when Proto was first summoned. “But,” he continued, looking down at Jack, “What have I told you about carving up bodies after battle?”

Jack pouted, “Not too.”

“And what did you do?”

“Carve up a body after battle?”

Gudao sighed, “Jack, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” she said, eyes affixed on the ground, “but I just need too,” she waved her hands around and mimed chopping something up.

Gudao sighed again, “Halloween’s right around the corner. I’m certain we can get some pumpkins for you to chop up.” She brightened, and Gudao straightened, stretching out his back. “Anything else?”

“Yeah!” Proto waved his hand, “What’s everyone going to be for Halloween?” He didn’t see the Lion King much when not on rotation, and Hercules was a similar case. Fuuma fell into that category as well, not for lack of trying on Proto's part. Which was a shame, because Fuuma had such a nice voice too. 

Gudao’s serious façade split, “I’m going to be Loki! The marvel version. Mash over here,” the Demi-Servant blushed, “decided to leave her costume to my discretion, and I decided she’ll be Captain America. You?”

Proto gave him a matching grin, “The three musketeers. Alter doesn’t know it yet, but he’s coming with me and CasCu. Everyone else?”

“I’m dressing up with Alice!” Jack cried, throwing her bloody hands up into the air. “And we haven’t decided what we’re going to be yet!”

Proto’s eyes flicked towards where the Lion King sat on her horse, and to where Hercules shadowed Gudao. Neither replied, and he gave them up as a lost cause. He’d be pleasantly surprised if they did dress up, but he could wait and find out on the day. Finally, he allowed his gaze to fall on Fuuma, who shifted at the attention, wind yanking at his jinburi. “And you?” He asked, hoping that the Assassin would reply.

“Ah . . .” Fuuma started, hesitant and unsure like he often was when the job was over. He shifted slightly, balancing his weight from one foot to the other. For the briefest of moments, his red eyes flashed behind his hair before being covered again. “I . . . I haven’t decided yet.”

Proto tried not to look disappointed, “Oh.” He said, and he could've sworn that for a second, Fuuma looked almost guilty behind his red scarf and redder hair.

Proto almost made it to safety, if it hadn’t been for Alter. After lunch, the Berserker swooped down on him and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. “Look,” he growled, “If I have to attend these stupid rummy games, you have to attend them.”

Proto struggled in his grip, “I was on rotation today, you know what happens on rotation days!”

“Well then, I guess you’ll just have to get it over with, won’t you?”

Proto groaned, then slumped in Alter’s hold, letting his feet drag across the floor as the Berserker hauled him towards the entertainment rooms. Glumly, he watched the world pass by. Servants, staff members, robots, they all walked past uncaring of his plight. It was a common enough sight, and there were more important things to focus on. Gudao was right, Halloween was just around the corner, and the hallways were plastered with decorations. The aftermath of Elizabeth’s disastrous Grail accusation was just fading, but bats were still stuck to the walls, dark against the silver metal. Lights were strung across the ceiling, a line of jack o' lanterns that would be lit after dark. The Halloween spirit was truly catching on to even the most adamant of people, yet Proto couldn’t enjoy it. Nor could he enjoy the people walking around in their funny shirts, emblazoned with sayings or pictures. Normally, he would have loved it all, would have strutted beside Alter with a grin on his face, a greeting for everyone on his lips, but not today.

Today was rotation, which meant battle, which meant fresh air, which meant watching Fuuma fight. But it also meant CasCu was at his worst, and on rotation days, Cu was generally on CasCu’s side of the playing field. Alter was his only ally, and even then he was mostly apathetic to Proto’s plight. 

There was the whoosh of a door, then Proto was tossed into the room. He staggered to his feet, scowling even as Cu, resplendent in a shirt that read A DAY WITHOUT FISHING PROBABLY WON’T KILL ME BUT WHY TAKE THE CHANCE?, waved good naturedly and proclaimed, “We already dealt. Grab a chair and sit down.”

“Yes, sit Proto.” CasCu said, his lips twisted in amusement. At least Proto could take some consolation that his shirt wasn’t nearly as favorable as Cu’s, his read I THOUGHT GROWING OLD WOULD TAKE LONGER. “You’re a Chulainn, we don’t run from anything.” He grinned, a challenge, and Proto bristled.

“I wasn’t running. Fran, Mordred, and I had plans.”

“Nice try squirt,” Cu said, “But Mordred has training with Achilles at this time. Then after that, he spends time with Lily and Artoria. You aren’t escaping. So,” He leaned back into his seat, glanced at his cards, “how was rayshifting?”

“Yes Proto,” CasCu parroted, “how was your date?”

Proto stiffened, “It wasn’t a date! You know that!”

“Uh huh.” It was said by both of them, although CasCu added a raised eyebrow for maximum effect.

Alter sighed, “Interrogate him after we sit down and look at our cards. I would like to get through at least one game before murder is attempted.”

“Thanks Alter,” Proto grumbled, slinking to his seat and collapsing against the cushion. He glanced at his hand, and groaned. As if he needed anything to make this little bit of his day worse. “Really appreciate the support.”

“You’re welcome,” Alter said, face utterly blank as he sat down, his shirt spouting the message, I DIDN’T MEAN TO PUSH ALL YOUR BUTTONS, I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR MUTE. Not even Alter was exempt from Gudao’s mandatory funny shirt day, and Proto would have killed to know the argument Gudao had used against him. “Now, whose turn is it?”

“Cu dealt, so it’s mine.” CasCu reached out lazily and drew a card, then clucked his tongue. “So, Proto, how did your totally-not-a-date go?” He tossed down another card and Proto groaned loudly.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“And it went fine.” He reached out and drew, then winced. “Please tell me someone checked CasCu for luck altering runes.” He tossed down a card, it didn’t matter which, they were all worthless anyway.

“I already did,” Cu said, then, “Just fine? Be more descriptive. Ten words or more.”

Alter drew a card and frowned slightly, and Proto rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, what are you, my brother? We fought some amazons, and centaurs, and a couple wyverns. There you go, ten words.”

“And how was Fuuma?” CasCu asked, still grinning, “Did you talk to him at all? or did you just continue to pine away and run into things while watching him fight?”

Proto made a strangled sound in his throat. “I did that once, and when I find out who told you, they will be dead.” It had probably been Jack, or Gudao, because neither Fran nor Mordred had seen that particular instance. Otherwise they would have never let it down. “And I did talk to him, I asked him what he was dressing up as for halloween.”

“And?”

“And he said he didn’t know yet. Can we talk about anything else? Literally anything else?”

“Nope,” CasCu popped the p, glancing at his cards as Cu laid his own down. “Cu is sadly settled. Alter is boring. Face it brat, you’re the only one with anything interesting going on right now.”

“Sadly settled?” Cu asked incredulously.

“I’m not a brat,” Proto snapped. 

“Whatever,” CasCu waved a hand then drew, “you should talk to him. You’re getting nowhere not talking to him. Take a shot, flirt a little, see where it goes.”

Proto growled, watched as CasCu flicked down a card, then he reached out to snag it and place another in its spot. “I don’t want to hear it from someone who will flirt with literally anyone, and then brush any real connection off as ‘being too old for that shit’.”

Cu whistled softly as Alter drew and set a card down. “Proto going in for the kill. Will he make it, or will his opponent dodge?”

CasCu drew himself up, eyes flashing. “Because I am too old for that shit. Sleeping around is one thing, I ain’t got time for anything else.”

“Bullshit.” Proto and Alter said immediately, and Proto could have laughed at the affronted expression that crawled across CasCu’s face. Hah! Reinforcements! He would not be alone in this battle!

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means,” Proto smirked, leaning forwards, holding his cards close to his chest. “Two words. Fuyuki. A-”

“Shut up brat!” CasCu lunged, a blur of movement, it didn’t matter, Proto was already falling back in his chair, felled by his own laughter. 

Alter jerked forwards, planting his hand in CasCu’s face before he could do anything. “We’ve barely made it to turn three. Sit down and try to kill each other after the game.”

Cu glanced between the three of them. “Am I missing something? What about Fuyuki?”

“Nothing,” CasCu spat out, stumbling back into his seat. “Because nothing happened.” Proto opened his mouth, and CasCu glared at him. Reluctantly, he snapped it shut. CasCu had a nasty habit of getting his revenge weeks after he’d taken the hit, long after his target had let his guard down. And as annoying as CasCu was, Proto knew why he was trying to keep his memories of Fuyuki from Cu.

They would have only complicated matters.

Which meant they were good for blackmail material. 

“Anyway,” Proto said, watching Cu as he set down a three, four, five then placed a card in the pile, “We have other things to talk about.That are not about me or CasCu.”

“Like what?” Alter asked, words drawn out as if he knew he was going to regret them the minute he said them.

“Like the memory Cu shared with us last night.” 

Cu frowned, already confused, but CasCu started to grin, that terrifying grin that was normally directed towards Proto after rotation. “Oh yes, the dream. How did it go again?” He tapped his chin, then stood, placing his face down cards on the table. He set his hand on his chest and the other against his forehead, rocking back on his heels. “Oh Emiya, your food is so good, please for the love of Lugh marry me.”

Cu’s eyes widened in realization, but he was too late. Proto tried to emulate Emiya’s stoic blankness in both face and tone, “You know what, fuck it. Sure.”

CasCu stumbled back comically, eyes wide as he pretended to choke, clawing at the air and at his throat. Cu scowled at him. “Not funny guys.” Alter snorted, and the Lancer’s eyes swiveled towards him, shock written across his features. “Even you?”

Alter stared at him blankly as CasCu sat down and played his turn. “You choked on a piece of salmon and then nearly fell off a building. How is that not funny?”  
Cu went red, “I wasn’t expecting him to say yes!”

“Don’t worry,” Proto said again in his best representation of Emiya’s voice, drawing his next card. “It was a joke.” Hah! A match! He set down three sixes and Alter glared at him. 

CasCu cackled, “Holy Grail News report, local Lancer slain by the unexpected words of his Archer companion. Found dead at the bottom of a building with half chewed salmon in his throat. Experts say the man likely choked to death before breaking every bone in his body upon impact.” 

Cu lunged to his feet. “Look here you two assholes. That was a perfectly acceptable answ-”

“Out.” Alter said blankly, tossing a card onto the stack and revealing a board with a three, four, five, and three aces. For a moment there was silence, and the Berserker smirked faintly. “Best to two fifty, correct? I believe I am up sixty while the rest of you are in the hole.”

Cu sat down, “I suggest a temporary truce as we destroy Alter.”

Proto glanced at his hand, and then at his board, and winced. He’d placed cards down, but it still wasn’t going to be pretty. “I second that.”

CasCu scowled down at his empty board and his full hand. “Thirded. Alter, you die today.”

And Alter smirked, “You three aren’t strong enough to accomplish such a feat.”

Oh yes, it was on.

Proto was one of the first summoned to Chaldea, and as a consequence, he knew almost every one there. That was good when he was hunting gossip for a momentary respite from CasCu’s teasing, not so good when CasCu used Proto as his bit of gossip for his daily meeting with Marie and Achilles. But perhaps the best outcome of knowing everyone was never lacking in people to hang out with or draw into spars. Dinners he normally had with Fran and Mordred, where he had to sit painfully through Fran’s flitations shooting way over the Saber’s head. Breakfasts he normally had with the other Chulainns, where jibes were normally thrown and arguments had. He had lunches with them too, but he also ate with Fergus, and pretty much anyone else who had a table open. Nightingale was best to avoid, and thankfully Medb hadn’t been summoned yet, and there were a few others he didn’t get along with, but for the most part, he was on good terms with practically everyone. 

In the end though, he spent most of his time with either CasCu and Alter or Mordred and Fran. Jack occasionally pulled him in on hers and Alice's shenanigans, but unlike them, he wasn’t young enough to use puppy dog eyes to any effect. Beyond that, he enjoyed his time at Chaldea, he had friends, he had other versions of himself who seemed more like siblings then alternate versions, he had a Master who was on the fast track to saving the world. Despite his horrible luck stat, he had somehow managed to luck out. 

Individual days though, he was not so lucky. Because the day after rotation and CasCu’s subsequent interrogation was movie night. Which had been a safe zone, of sorts. Any war path his older self was on would be sidetracked by whatever played in the auditorium. Mordred, however, had taken that safety from him. And he knew it the minute the Saber left early from dinner. Mordred. Early. From dinner. There was only one reason why he would do that. 

Proto let his head thunk against the table, “He’s going to get Fuuma, isn’t he?”

Fran kicked him lightly, and he looked up as she signed, _Probably. You’ll survive._

“He talks through movies Fran!” It wasn’t a protest, “You heard him last time!”

_You enjoyed his rant._

Prot groaned and let his head thunk against the table again. And that was the crux of the matter, he had enjoyed hearing the small Assassin’s rant about the Princess Bride. He just didn’t talk that much out of rotation, and when he did, it was soft and quiet and filled with pauses. And during rotation, he spoke sharply, confidently, but it was always cold, calculating. Last week had been the first time Proto had heard Fuuma passionate about something. And the sight had refused to leave his memory, popping up at inopportune moments. The flashing hands, the burning eyes, the way his voice had fallen and rose with each argument he presented.

Proto was screwed. Destined to torture once again. All because Mordred was on a warpath trying to get Fuuma to socialize or whatever. 

He sighed and set his chin on the table, glaring at his empty plate. “At least I can take consolation that you’re in the same boat as me.”

Fran glared at him, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. _I guess you’re right there. You know, you could always sit with your other selves._

“CasCu is on a warpath and Cu currently wants mine and his heads.” He’d been lucky yesterday, he’d managed to divert CasCu’s attention before the real interrogation had begun. The Caster had realized it this morning, and Proto had spent the whole day avoiding him. Alter was no help, he’d almost given Proto up the minute Proto tried to use him as a shield. His only respite would be to sit with Fran and Mordred and Fuuma, and hope that CasCu would not notice and add another interrogation to the list.

He knew he wasn’t that lucky.

“And today we’ll be watching Hocus Pocus!” Gudao called, waving from the stage. “In light of recent events and the upcoming holiday, I thought it would be a good idea for us all to enjoy a movie that carries the spirit of Halloween!” There were a few groans, a few cheers, and a loud whoop of approval that probably came from CasCu or one of the Elizabeths. Proto slumped back into his seat and hoped he was adequately hidden. He glanced to the side, to where Fran reclined in her throne like chair. To her other side, Mordred was a blur of movement on his own rolly chair. Beyond him, Fuuma could just be seen, a mop of red hair hidden in a too large hoodie, curled up in his seat with a notebook pressed against his knees and a pencil held loosely in his hand. A crossword? A connect the dots? Perhaps he was going to vent the inaccuracies of the movie out onto paper instead of into the air? Or perhaps, and this was a stretch, he was doodling. Proto had once seen him pull a book full of sketches of different types of plants out of his jinburi, although he didn’t know if Fuuma had been borrowing from the library or had done those sketches himself.

Perhaps that was part of Fuuma’s mysterious allure. Despite being in Chaldea for as long as Proto had been, he knew next to nothing about Fuuma. He knew the basics of Fuuma’s tale, the scraps the Throne of Heroes had given him, but digging into detail felt like an invasion of privacy. He knew Fuuma had three sides to him, a serious front he put up during rotation, a shyer one off rotation, and the one that had been revealed whenever the Princess Bride had played. He knew Fuuma collected things, he’d seen him pick up weapons and objects during rotation. He knew that Fuuma was always prepared, and knew odd tidbits of knowledge, and helped Da Vinci test out the simulation room. But those were all things he had picked up from watching him, he didn’t know the deeper meanings beyond the actions.

Fuuma glanced up from his notebook and tilted his head, one eye briefly visible before being covered again. Shit. He’d been staring. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he sent a brief grin Fuuma’s way before jerking his eyes towards the movie screen. Movie. He had to focus on the movie. 

Long story short, he did not end up focusing on the movie. 

Something set Fuuma off again, and he fell into a rant, hands waving in the air, pencil tucked behind his ear. The motion caught Proto’s eye and the sight of half of Fuuma’s bangs pushed back by his pencil kept it. He could see one eye, completely revealed, the bright red iris, the slitted pupil. Almost the whole cut of his cheek bone and the curve of his jaw was on view, the slope of his neck disappearing into his hoodie. His voice rose and fell, softer then it had been last week, and Proto could have mourned for the loss. He could barely make out the words, just the rise and fall of his voice, the cadence of his speech, the low crackle that underlined his speech.

Proto caught himself a few times, the times Fuuma covered his mouth, a blush covering his cheeks as he glanced away awkwardly and tugged his hair back over his eyes. Then Proto would wrestle his gaze back to the movie screen, clueless as to what was going on until something else set Fuuma off and Proto’s attention was once again trapped. It was sad, really, how he couldn’t not pay attention to the sight of the small ninja annoyed with something. Like CasCu said, he really should just talk to him. Maybe about rotation, or fighting styles, or maybe just asking what he did with that notebook . . . but Fuuma just seemed so uncomfortable speaking most of the time. And Proto didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So he was stuck, watching Fuuma rotate between agitated at the movie then embarrassed at his own words, imagining what would happen if he just spoke to him at least once.

Halloween, and Proto, CasCu, and Alter were walking down one of Chaldea’s many hallways in their three musketeers costumes. Getting Alter to dress up was a struggle, but it was worth it. The almost pout, almost smile on the Berserker’s face was hilarious. Currently, Proto and CasCu were working on the best path for candy, so they didn’t see the blur of movement, just heard the crash and Alter’s low growl as he said, “Look where you’re going.”

“Ah! . . . Sorry.” Proto’s head jerked up to stare at Fuuma. The Assassin was rocking back on his heels, tugging his hair over his flush covered face, in a loose hoodie with cut off sleeves and jeans. What was he doing here? And where was his costume?

“You know,” CasCu drawled, and Proto could hear the smirk in his words. “that we aren’t supposed to be running in the hallways? Not today, at least.”

“Ah . . . I know.” Fuuma glanced back, then turned back. “Could . . . ah . . . could you let me through please?” He smiled, small and wavering and uncertain, and Proto made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

CasCu, the asshole, snickered, while Alter sighed heavily, no doubt already done with this whole situation. Proto kicked Cascu in revenge, cleared his throat, and glanced at Fuuma, “Is everything alright?”

“Ah . . . hai. I just need to get through.” Fuuma shifted from foot to foot, obviously nervous about something.

“Wait!” Fuuma stiffened, blood draining from his face, and Jack rounded the corner, followed by Alice. “Don’t let him through! He keeps running away from us!”

CasCu stepped forwards, ““And why does he keep on running from you?”

“Because he’s going to dress up with us,” Alice said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

“You are?” Proto blurted out, and Kotarou shook his head rapidly. 

“Ah . . . no, I’m . . . no.”

“Yes, he is.” Alice said, “we need a third person, and Lilly is trick or treating with Bedivere and Lancelot. Fuuma is the only one who is around our age.”

CasCu burst into laughter, Alter sighed heavily again, and Proto could not stop the strangled, horrified noise that burst from his lips. “YOU ARE?!” Shit! He thought Fuuma was his age! 

“No!” Fuuma flushed, hard, and Proto forced himself to relax slightly.

“Hilarious,” CasCu said, as soon as his laughter had petered out, “What are you guys going to dress up as?”

“Cats!” Jack burst out, giggling delightedly.

“Well,” Alice said, tapping her foot, “we were going to do the Three Little Pigs, but that would require a wolf, and Jack didn’t want to be a pig, so yes, we’re cats instead.”

“That’s not too bad,” Proto managed, vocal chords back under control. “You should do it, Fuuma!” The Assassin had said he didn’t know what he was going to dress up as, this was the perfect solution to that.

“I have things to do.” Fuuma protested, then he moved, a blur. But for all his speed, Proto and Alter were just as fast, their arms jerking up to block Fuuma’s path just in time. Proto stared at his arm. It had just moved, automatically, without thinking. He should probably put it down. 

“If I,” the Berserker growled, “had to dress up, you have to dress up.”

“Besides,” Proto grinned again, “how bad can it be?”

“Do you think he’s okay?” Proto mumbled as he twisted his hands nervously, pacing the length of the room. He felt bad for handing Fuuma back over to Jack and Alice, but it was Halloween. People were supposed to dress up. Fuuma couldn’t just hide all day. Proto still didn’t know how Jack and Alice had convinced the three of them to wait while they shoved Fuuma into a costume. No. He knew how. CasCu had practically leapt at the chance to embarrass Proto. So he was here, waiting for Jack and Alice to release Fuuma, and hoping the Assassin wouldn’t hate him for putting him through this.

“Eh,” CasCu flicked a dismissive hand, “he’s probably fine, it’s not like they're torturing him or anything.” Proto could hear the sly smirk in CasCu’s voice as he sang, “But it’s nice that you’re worried about him.”

Briefly, Alter groaned, but it was lost beneath the “I’M NO-” that burst from Proto’s lips. He bit them off, wrestling with the urge to throw something at CasCu. He could feel the heat searing his cheeks. “I’m not worried about him,” he said slowly, “Fuuma is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“Gosh,” CasCu leaned forwards, hands on his hips, and Proto restrained the desire to scream. “I don’t remember being such a disaster. Can you even feel your face? It is literally redder than,” a pause and another sly grin, the next words were a murmured, “Fuuma’s hair.”

Proto made a noise, something furious and embarrassed, trapped between teeth and throat. He glanced at Alter for support, but the Berserker was staring at the wall, obviously having decided that their next spat wasn’t worth his effort. He jerked his gaze from Alter to grinning, annoying CasCu, and let loose the building retort. This was a familiar path, well worn and well travelled, the only difference from their previous arguments being CasCu knew who he liked now, Lugh damn the person who had told him. And Proto had plenty of ammunition, given to him from months of dreaming CasCu’s dreams. Honestly, the man might say he was responsible and mature, but he was just as much a disaster as Proto. Worse. 

The door slammed open, and Alice entered the room, Jack right behind her. Both had donned ears and tails that twitched as if they were alive. “We,” Alice said, lacing her hands in front of her, “present to you -”

“-- the third member of our Critical Catastrophe -” Jack sang, her yellow eyes gleaming in barely disguised glee. “Fuuma Kotarou!” The Assassin's name was called by both of them, hands shaking as if to bring importance to the words.

A beat of silence.

No one appeared.

And honestly, Proto couldn’t blame him. He really did feel bad for dragging the ninja into this. 

Jack sighed, a mock, playful sigh. ““Sorry, our third member has stage fright, give us a sec.” The two rushed back into the adjoining room, and after a few moments and what sounded like a small scuffle, they wheeled out Fuuma.

Fuuma. 

Distantly, he heard Jack and Alice chant his name again, probably throwing in the jazz hands effect. Proto thought he might have made a choking noise, the argument with CasCu dying in his throat and fleeing from his mind. Because Fuuma. It was the only thing his mind could focus on. Fuuma. Fuuma with his red hair parted just-so, revealing one bright burning eye, his small nose, and what looked to be whiskers drawn across his cheek, dark against the flush on his skin. Fuuma, in a high necked tank top, far tighter than the one he wore as part of his armor. It clung like ink to his chest, rising and falling with each breath. Fuuma, in jeans, not his normal baggy things with a plethora of pockets, but jeans that hugged his legs in a way that should have been illegal. Fuuma, decked up in cat attire like Jack and Alice, with red twitching ears and a lashing tail and a loose collar around his throat, bell gleaming bright gold. 

“Come on Fuuma,” Alice chirped, as if Proto wasn’t on the fast track to dying, “you have to do it with us!”

“Do what?” Fuuma mumbled in his deep and soft voice, glancing away and rubbing one arm awkwardly, and Proto almost melted. How could someone sound so adorable while looking like that?

“You know, like nya!” Jack said, and she might have made some kind of movement, Proto didn’t have enough brain cells left to look at her.

“Do I?” Fuuma mumbled, even quieter, and something in Proto grabbed him and shook him free of his catatonic daze. He opened his mouth to say that Fuuma really didn’t have to do that if he didn’t want to, because it was making him uncomfortable and as good as Fuuma looked right now, Proto didn’t want to see him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Alice said firmly, before he could push the words from his mouth.

Fuuma sighed, glancing away, and took a deep breath, and even half useless, Proto noted the change. When he slipped from off rotation Fuuma to on rotation Fuuma. He dropped his hand from his arm, shoulders straightening, and glanced back, his face still tinged with pink, but no longer vibrant red. He spoke, and there was no stutter, no embarrassed mumble. It was as confidence filled as anything he had ever spoken on the battlefield, almost a purr. He titled his head, red hair shifting, visible eye flashing, a small smile slipping onto his lips. “You know, like nya?”

Proto didn’t remember stumbling back or rushing out of the room. He didn’t remember the flash of Hallways and the costumes of the people he passed. He didn’t regain actual control of himself until he hit the cold air outside of Chaldea. Snow struck his cheeks, stinging his flushed skin, melting and leaving trails of cold down his face. His breath billowed out into the dark, ice crystals hanging before beginning to fade away. He gasped for breath, hand over his mouth, before falling to his knees in the snow, staring out into the blizzard, the flakes mixing with the night to make spots of white upon a blur of grey and black. 

He was screwed.

One hundred percent, completely, utterly screwed.

And he still had rotation tomorrow.

Fuck.

“Father,” he said into the darkness, words whipped away by the wind. He tilted his head to the sky, where the sun would shine tomorrow, hidden by a thick layer of clouds. “I don’t know if you’re listening right now, but please don’t let me embarrass myself tomorrow. Just you know, one little thing. Please.” 

He was met with nothing but the howl of the ever present blizzard around Chaldea.

The next morning found Proto buried under the covers of his bed, pillow clasped over his ears. Someone, one of his other selves, was banging on his door, a loud repetitive sound. “Come on! You have twenty minutes to get to the rayshift room! Get your lazy butt up!” It was too early to pay attention to the voice, to listen for the everpresent exhaustion in CasCu’s tone or the growl that almost always threaded through Alter’s words. And he couldn’t go to rotation. Not today. Not with the image of Fuuma still branded into his mind, the flash of his eyes, the way his tank top and jeans had clung to his form. He couldn’t face him, not today. Not right after Halloween. He would run into something and make a fool of himself and be absolutely useless in battle and -

BOOM!

Proto jerked out of bed, armor coalescing, Gae Bolg falling into his hands. He stumbled to his feet, blinking as Alter brought his foot down and stepped into Proto's bedroom, crossing his arms. Cu and CasCu followed him. “You,” Alter said, “need to go.”

Proto dropped his armor and allowed Gae Bolg to disperse, running a hand through his tangled hair. He hadn’t put it up yet, and it was snagged and snarled all the way to the end, a good five or six inches past his shoulders. He scowled at his other selves. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Alter said, raising one dark eyebrow, and behind him, CasCu and Cu began to cackle and shake their heads respectively.

“You saw him!” Proto threw his hands into the air. None of them needed him to elaborate. “How am I supposed to just waltz up to the rayshift room after seeing him like that? And he didn’t want to dress up! We made him dress up! I feel bad for pushing him into that.” He sighed and let his hands fall. 

“Got it.” Cu said, his grin falling from his face. “Alter, CasCu, out.” He pushed the two out, although CasCu protested, loudly. Cu shut the door with a snap, “And no listening at keyholes!” He turned around, “Look kid, if you feel bad, apologize. It’s not rocket science. Say you’re sorry for pushing him, and then tell him you won’t do it again. Okay?” He turned to Proto’s closet, dug out his funny shirt and a pair of jeans, then threw them at him. “I can’t believe I’m having to tell you this, but relationships are about compromise. Got it?”

Proto scowled at the shirt, the words that stared up at him. I DON’T CARE WHO DIES IN A MOVIE AS LONG AS THE DOG LIVES. He sighed, then began to change. “We aren’t in a relationship, I can’t even say we’re really friends. We’re just on rayshift together, and I see him around occasionally. I just, you know . . .” He sighed again, harder, then grabbed a brush to drag through his hair. “I want to know him better, and if that’s as far as it goes, I’ll be happy.”

Cu laughed, “You are so disgustingly sweet, now get your ass to the rayshift room. After you thank me for kicking CasCu out before he heard all that.”

Proto rolled his eyes. “Thank you Cu.” He parroted, but Cu was right. He was running out of time. So he finished putting his hair up, and ran out the door, towards the rayshift rooms with the speed only few could match.

Fuuma was already there when Proto pushed open the door, five minutes before it was time to go. In the adjoining room, Romani and Da Vinci were doing a last minute diagnosis on the rayshift program. Fuuma seemed to be running a check up on the Coffins, just another thing he’d picked up in the time he was in Chaldea. Proto rubbed the back of his hair as he entered, kicking the floor as he walked. He’d forgotten to put on shoes, the metal was cold against the soles of his feet. “Hey, Fuuma, can we talk?”

Fuuma glanced up from Gudao’s Coffin, his eyes completely hidden. “Ah . . . hai.”

“Oh, good.” He swallowed, then looked at him, to where the Assassin stood by the Coffin, half turned towards him. His curving tattoo was mostly hidden by his sleeve, the words on his shirt obscured from this angle. It didn’t matter, Proto knew them by heart. IF YOU CAN READ THIS MY INVISIBILITY CLOAK ISN’T WORKING. Gudao had made them all watch the Harry Potter movies to understand the joke, although Proto was certain Fuuma had somehow managed to skip attending them. Proto would have remembered if he did. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for yesterday. You weren’t comfortable with dressing up, and I should have helped you out there. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Fuuma stiffened, a flush flashing over what was visible of his face. “Ah! No . . . you’re . . . ah . . . you’re fine. Jack and Alice are hard to say no to.”

“That’s not the point.” Proto said, staring at him. “You were uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have had to do it if you were uncomfortable.”

For a long moment, Fuuma was silent, then he nodded slowly. “Hai. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And, if something like that ever happens again, I’ll be on your side, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Mommy wake up!” Jack's voice, loud and blaring as the door opened again. Her shirt loudly proclaiming, I’M JUST HERE TO ESTABLISH AN ALIBI. Behind her she dragged a stumbling Gudao - no, Gudako today. “It’s time to murder!” She giggled, high and too delighted for the words she was spouting.

“Mmllp.” Gudako mumbled, patting Jacks head, and the Assassin giggled again. Gudako peared at Proto and Fuuma, blinking groggily. “Mornin’.” She stumbled forwards slightly, and Jack caught her, still giggling. “Sorry, I stayed up too late last night. Mash didn’t know what a decent horror movie was.” She yawned, jaw cracking with the movement. “Where’s the rest?”

“Here.” The Lion King said, her voice distant and cold as she entered her room in a shirt that cried, BAAAAAAAAAAAAA SOWENYAAAAAAAAAA MAMABEATSEBABAH. In her arms, she carried breakfast and what was possibly lunch as well. Behind her, Hercules loomed in a shirt that read, HUNKULES, most definitely there to stop the Lion King from digging into the food. To the Lion King’s other side was Mash, in her shirt that read, JUST A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE.

Mash rushed forwards, a cup in hand. “Here you go, senpai!” Gudako grabbed it and began to drain the contents. Mash turned to Jack, “I’m sorry you had to watch her this morning.”

Jack beamed, “It’s fine! Did you and Mommy have fun last night?”

Mash flushed, “Yes . . . yes we did.”

Gudako finished her drink, slamming her cup against her palm. “Yep. Watched a bunch of horror movies, and procrastinated on all the paperwork that we were supposed to do. I call that a very productive evening!” She turned, “Everything looking good, Doctor, Da Vinci?”

Da Vinci glanced up, her blue eyes twinkling cheerfully. Her shirt was complex, a too long message, but he knew the words. TRUST ME, I’M AN INVENTOR: A GENIUS WITH GODLY MATH SKILLS AND SCIENCE ABILITIES WHO CAN SOLVE PROBLEMS IN WAYS NORMAL PEOPLE CANNOT UNDERSTAND. That had brought more than a couple of laughs when Gudako had presented it to her. “The Coffins are good to go, and the Rayshift Program is also good to go.”

Romani looked up, his shirt hidden completely from view. But Proto knew it matched Da Vinci’s, reading, TRUST ME, I’M (ALMOST) A DOCTOR. “Gudako, Mash, please be careful. This Singularity is reading as something low level, there shouldn’t be anything too challenging,” damn, “but there’s something off with the sensors.”

Da Vinci frowned at him, poking him in the side of the head. “There’s nothing wrong with the sensors. You’re making things up. Spending time with Magi Mari again~? I thought I told you to quit that.”

He scowled at her, batting away her fingers. “I just have a bad feeling, okay?” He sighed, and turned back to their little group. “Be safe out there.”

Gudako saluted, “Yes sir!” She turned to the rest of them, arms crossed over her chest, eyes gleaming a challenge. No funny shirt for her, she wore her Chaldea uniform, the black tights and skirt, the white jacket, bright under the rayshift room. “You heard them gang! Everything’s up and running and good to go. Let’s get this farming done with so we can tackle Babylonia tomorrow!”

“Whoo!” Cu whooped while Jack cheered. Mash beamed and the Lion King gave the smallest of smiles. Hercules growled an affirmative, and Fuuma nodded, his red hair shifting. That was right. The last rayshift before they headed to Babylonia. And fixing Babylonia meant finding Solomon and giving him the ass kicking he deserved. They were so close, and he could see it in Gudako’s eyes, the excitement, the eagerness, the resolve. She walked to her Coffin, head held high, and stepped inside, the doors whooshing closed behind her. Everyone else followed her example, and Proto took a deep breath within the confines of his Coffin. He felt bad for Hercules, they’d had to construct a new one just for him and servants his height or taller. Proto was at a more manageable almost six feet, but his Coffin still pressed tight against his sides and chest. He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and let his head thunk back against the soft padding.

**“Rayshift in . . .**

**Three . . .**

**Two . . .**

**One”**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There isn’t much I can say here that wouldn’t be spoilers except poor Proto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! First off I would like to say thank you all for the comments and kudos! You all are the best! (and I'm sorry if you had to go back and dig to find this thing after I accidentally deleted it . . . whoops. That won't be happening again.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ Japan had changed with the years, and it wasn’t just the burnt city lying before him. It felt different, the mana in the air felt different. Kotarou frowned down at the sight, balancing on the ledge of the abandoned school building. There had been chain links once, probably to keep students from falling off, but now the fence was ripped and rent, twisted in places and melted in others. Not much had survived, and it had left great, gaping holes where people could sit or walk without their view being obstructed by metal.  _

_ Kotarou took a deep breath, and inhaled the scent of burnt buildings and scorched stone. The city was a hell scape, flames flickering dimly in the darkness, lighting up the smoke and the clouds with dull colors. It was a scene that was almost familiar to him. He hadn’t seen anything to the size of this, or buildings like this destroyed in such a way, but a burnt town was familiar. He’d seen plenty in his time, and had caused more than a few himself. _

_ Still, he hadn’t expected to be summoned into a situation like this. Not with other people, against twisted shades of former Servants and hordes of endless skeletons. Not to a city destroyed, trapped with no way out, a timeline warped out of place. The Director had called it a Singularity, and they had to find the cause for it while Chaldea scrambled for a way to bring them back. The whole situation was leagues beyond what he’d expected when he was summoned, and as a bonus, his Master was inexperienced. _

_ Kotarou frowned at the burning city. The biggest thing was the fact Gudako was inexperienced, and he understood why the Director wished Gudako’s command seals transferred to another. A more powerful mage would be better suited for the picture the Director painted, as well as one who was more experienced on the battlefield. But for all her naivete, Gudako showed signs of becoming a great Master. She was good at improvisation and had treated him and the other Servants as if they were human instead of tools. Despite the situation, she hadn’t broken down, but had faced forwards, eyes on her goal, no matter the turmoil within.  _

_ Mash, the demi-servant was much the same. She was an inexperienced warrior, scared of battle, but she followed Gudako’s orders, and she hadn’t run in the face of the twisted Lancer, although he wouldn’t have blamed her for doing so. She was brave, and that in itself was good enough for now.  _

_ But they were both too trusting. _

_ He scowled faintly, thoughts turning to the Caster they had encountered, who was probably now bothering one of the others below. Cu Chulainn, a different version then the one Gudako had summoned. He was hiding something, and Kotarou didn’t know what. He could only hope that whatever Caster was hiding, it wasn’t important, and wouldn’t endanger their chances of success. And that Archer wouldn’t kill him before they marched towards Saber’s hideout tomorrow. _

_ He drew one of his kunai, flipping it over and over in his hands. Archer confused him. Somehow, Archer knew Lancer or Caster, or another version of them caught somewhere between Lancer’s youth and Caster’s old age. He wielded dual swords despite being in the Archer class, but was not the true owner of those blades. He knew this city, Fuyuki, and there was a hardness to his face when he gazed at the destruction. A warrior coming home to find his house burned to ash. He was hiding something too, but unlike Caster, he was Gudako’s permanent Servant, and would obey her. If his secret was dangerous, he would tell her. Simple as that. _

_ The door to the roof creaked open, and Kotarou half turned to see Lancer standing at the entrance. “Hey,” he waved. “Mind if I join you?” _ _   
_ _ For a few moments Kotarou stared at him, before nodding and turning back to the view. He flipped his kunai once more, then slipped it back into its sheathe. Lancer walked up to him and stood on the ledge, starting out at the city with burning eyes. Oni’s eyes, like Kotarou’s, except Lancer could not be an oni because he wasn’t Japanese. Kotarou frowned faintly again; Lancer confused him. His bloodlust, Kotarou didn’t understand it. He knew Caster’s bloodlust, the tamed bloodlust of an experienced warrior he could understand, but Lancer’s exuberance in a fight was different. Kotarou did not go into battle eagerly, it was simply a job. Something that needed to be finished. However, Lancer was not hiding things like Caster and Archer, so for now he was the only one Kotarou could fully trust to keep Gudako safe. _

_ “I picked a name,” Lancer said suddenly, “Since there’s an older me, and the Archer knew a different me. That’s just too confusing, you know? And I don’t want to be called Lancer this whole time, so I picked something out.” Kotarou tilted his head slightly, peering at the other through his bangs. From this side, most of Lancer’s face was obscured by his blue hair, but Kotarou could still catch the gleam of his red eye. Then he turned on his heels, balancing precariously, sending Kotarou a wide grin. “I think I’m going to call myself Proto. You know, like the first draft of something before the creators have to knock it down a few pegs because they realized they made the whatever too powerful.” _

_ Kotarou almost said that was not the meaning of Proto, short for Prototype. The prototype of a creation was often flawed or weak, and the later drafts smoothed out those weaknesses and made the product stronger. But Lan - Proto, looked too eager about the name, his eyes gleaming, his grin proud, and Kotarou didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth of the matter. “Hai.” He murmured, turning his gaze back to the city. _

_ “So,” Proto said, his footsteps echoing off the roof, and Kotarou turned again to see Proto walking backwards on the ledge, arms out for balance. “What do you think about Olga’s plan for Gudako?” _

_ Kotarou almost frowned. Small talk? It must have been. He didn’t know what to do with small talk. But it was something that needed to be addressed. “Ah . . . I think that it is logical,” he said slowly, “however, it would be best to see how Gudako deals with this situation before the decision is made.” _

_ Proto tilted his head, watching Kotarou with his burning eyes. “You might be right there Fuuma,” and Kotarou almost opened his mouth to tell Proto to call him Kotarou, but the Lancer continued speaking, so he swallowed the urge for a later date, “But Gudako’s my Master, inexperienced or not. I’m with her to the very end.” He grinned again, all flashing white teeth and challenge, and Kotarou tilted his head, considering these words.  _

_ Slowly, he nodded, “That is understandable.” _

_ “It’s just the way we Chulainns do things!” Proto said cheerfully, and he stopped walking backwards and started walking forwards instead. “You can trust Caster too, I know he isn’t telling us everything, but he’s still me, and he’s sworn his allegiance to Gudako. He won’t betray us.” _

_ Kotarou hummed, but didn’t answer. Proto was biased on the matter. No one wanted to believe how deeply people could change over time, but that was something Kotarou knew well. He had no illusions, about himself or others.  _

_ “Glad to get that done with.” Proto hopped down into a sitting position beside Kotarou, and he tried not to lean away. That would be rude, but he didn’t like to be close to people. Proto leaned forwards slightly, fingers digging into the stone, feet dangling above open air. “How do you even see?” _

_ “Ah?” Kotarou recoiled at the sudden question, feeling the familiar heat sear his cheeks. What was before had been business, things that needed to be talked about. This was different. Kotarou hated talking about himself. And he was bad at talking to people outside of business. It was time to go before Proto tried to dig even further. He pushed to his feet. “I . . . ah . . . I am going to get Archer. This vantage point will be more useful for him than it is for me.” He turned and shifted into spirit form, away from Proto’s searching gaze and back to his new Master’s side. _

Kotarou had never liked rayshifting. That feeling of being yanked from present to past, disassembled before being reassembled. His memories from then mixed with the memories of now. Gudako and Mash, the many from his clan, the lords he had served under, all blending into one amorphous face. The clean, sterile scent of Chaldea’s halls, smoke and blood and fire. Laughter, screams, the crackle of flames. The feel of wood beneath his fingers, the coolness of the mask as he slipped it over his face. Power, real or imagined, it didn’t matter, thrumming through his veins. Then the harsh recoil of returning to reality. The sudden jerk of breath, the brief flash of pain, the hallucinations lingering in his mind.

Kotarou reached out for something to steady himself, searched for the press of dirt or grass or stone beneath his feet. Nothing, nothing but air and the faint tug against his clothes. His eyes snapped open to darkness, no light, no sound, just silence and blackness deeper then the most still of nights. For a moment he hung, suspended in air, before gravity wrapped it’s fingers around his middle and yanked.

Falling, he was falling.

He should probably do something about that.

Kotarou shook his head, forcing away the phantoms of the past, and pulled his kusarigama from his jinburi, feeling the cold links of the chain through his hand wraps. He needed something to anchor to, a wall, an outcropping, but there was nothing but rushing, disorienting darkness. He looped the chain once, sent the blade skittering out, hoping that it would snag something. The chain went limp in his hand, somewhere below him metal clinked against rock.

Well, wonderful.

Pain, bursting white against his vision, something smashed against his forehead as he crashed against uneven and slightly jagged stone. For a few seconds he lay there, ribs aching, head pounding, wrist throbbing, before something thudded beside him with the horrible wet smack of a body against stone. He closed his eyes and listened, the rush of his own breath, the soft exhale of someone else's. Far away, there was the faintest plink of water against rock. The air was cool and damp against his skin. Carefully, Koratou pushed himself up, ignoring the spikes of pain from various points in his body. He took a deep breath, noting the stab of pain from his side. Carefully he rotated his wrist, then he reached up and touched his forehead. His fingers came away sticky with blood.

A broken rib, maybe two, but nothing that had punctured his lunges. His wrist was sprained but not broken. A gash on his forehead. He didn’t think he had a concussion, but then again, it could have been too early to tell.

A moan of pain, the shift of fabric and metal.

Right, someone had fallen with him. Only one person though, where was the rest of the rayshift team? He shook his head, ignoring the sharp spike of pain between his temples. Time for questions later, right now he needed a light. He had packed a lantern, right? He had packed a lantern. He reached into his jinburi and pulled out his bag, digging around until his fingers hooked onto a metal loop. He tugged it out, set it on his lap, fingers flitting across the surface, searching for the dial. Finally, he found it, twisted, and heard the soft click. Slowly, the light grew, feeble at first, then a steady white glow. He blinked his eyes rapidly then set it on the stone, twisting around to stare at his companion.

To his relief, it was not Gudako. Kotarou doubted her frail human form would have survived the fall, but Proto didn’t seem to have made it uninjured either. His leg was twisted at an awkward angle, blood sluicing across half his face and smeared across his bottom lip. In the electric light, his skin was so pale it almost glowed.

Where was Gudako? Or Mash? Or Jack? Or the Lion King? Or Hercules? Kotarou stumbled to his feet, glancing around wildly. Proto was tough, he would be okay for the few moments it took for Kotarou to check. But there was nothing beyond their little circle of light beyond rock and metal. However, his connection to Gudako felt more like up then to the side. She must be on the surface then. How had they gotten separated? No, he shook his head, another twinge of pain. One thing at a time. Proto was injured, he would focus on those questions later. 

He knelt beside the Lancer, pulling out a med kit and his ointment from his bag. He set the supplies down carefully, then reached over and pushed Proto onto his back. His eyelids fluttered, and for a brief second, Kotarou caught a glimpse of ruby between the lashes. He was waking up, which meant Kotarou needed to deal with his leg first. He pulled out splints and bandages, grabbed his ointment, and shifted around to Proto’s broken leg. 

The break was in his shin, bone poking through fabric, the white cloth stained red. Carefully, Kotarou lifted Proto’s leg and placed it on his lap, and began to take off the wrappings. Proto moaned, shifted, then fell silent and still again. Kotarou removed the last of the wrappings, then drew one of his kunai and began to cut away the remaining grey fabric. He set his kunai down gently, and placed his hands on each side of the Lancer’s leg, holding him steady. No response. Kotarou nodded, and then shoved the bone back into place. 

Proto jerked awake, a strangled cry bursting from his lips, echoing off the cave walls. “It’s okay,” Kotarou murmured, his voice a tad slurred, “you have a broken leg, I just reset it. Don’t move.”

“Fuuma?” His name was weak on Proto’s lips.

“Hai.” He opened the tin of ointment, ignoring the pungent smell of the herbs, and began to spread it across the wound. He grabbed the splints, aligned them against Proto’s leg, and began to wrap it up. “This will heal in an hour or two. It would be best not to move until then.” He placed Proto’s leg onto the ground carefully, then shifted around so he could look him in the face. “How are you feeling?”

Proto blinked up at him. “Confused.” He breathed, “What happened?”

“I . . . ah . . . I don’t know.” Kotarou reached out and gently grabbed hold of Proto’s jaw, tilting his head slightly. Proto’s skin was warm beneath his fingers, almost feverish. He stared at the gash running across Proto’s hairline and hissed. “This is going to sting.”

“What are you doing?” Proto mumbled.

“Don’t move your head.” Kotarou dipped his fingers into the ointment and smeared it across the wound. Proto growled faintly, a pained noise. “Sit up.” Proto levered himself up, coughing. Kotarou didn’t like that cough, the wetness of it, the blood that splattered from his lips. Kotarou began to wrap Proto’s head, running the bandages over his blue hair. They could clean the blood of his skin later. “I think you punctured a lung.”

“Great.” Proto growled. He glanced at Kotarou, his eyes bright in the darkness. “You’re bleeding.”

“Hai.”

He peered closer, “And your pupils are really dilated.”

Kotarou blinked, “Ah . . . I’ll be fine. I am more worried about your lungs. I’ll . . .” He coughed and looked away, fiddling with the ointment tin, “you’ll need to take off your shirt.” He mumbled, feeling the familiar heat flare across his cheeks. “The ointment only works on skin, not through clothes.”

“Oh.” Proto said, the word slightly strangled, “right. Uh, yeah.” Kotarou glanced at him through his bangs, and watched as Proto twisted his hands in his lap, his cheeks dappled red. “Yeah.” He said again, awkwardly.

Embarrassed, he was embarrassed. For a few moments, he stared at the sight, then he shook his head. Pain again, maybe he did have a concussion, his thoughts were certainly fractured enough. He reached over and pushed the tin into Proto’s hands. “Ah . . . here, you’ll need to rub this on the side that hurts. I’m going to see how large this cavern is.” He pushed himself up, pain pulsing once again through his various injuries. Proto reached out and snagged his uninjured wrist, fingers hot through Kotarou’s wrappings. 

“You’re still bleeding,” he said, not looking at him, “at least let me fix that.”

Kotarou hesitated for a moment, then sat. “Hai.”

Proto reached up to push his bangs from his face, fingertips warm as they brushed over his skin. Kotarou closed his eyes, feeling the sting as his hair was pulled from the half dry blood. Proto’s fingers grazed the wound and Kotarou’s breath hitched. For a moment, Proto stopped, then he began applying the ointment, carefully, lightly, as if Kotarou would break if he pressed harder. Kotarou forced himself to breathe, to ignore the feeling as Proto smoothed the ointment over his wound. He didn’t like being touched, not normally. Gudako was okay, she was affectionate with everyone, and Kotarou was used to her friendly arm around his shoulders or the occasional hug. Mordred was almost okay, the Saber was probably his only friend in Chaldea next to Gudako and Da Vinci, but he was content with punches to the shoulder and nothing more. Nightingale was Nightingale, he was used to her touch, her methodological movements as she stitched wounds or set fractures. Mostly though, he dealt with his own wounds himself. He didn’t deserve much else. 

Proto applied the bandages, and Kotarou sat stiffly, waiting for him to finish. “Heh,” Proto murmured softly, drawing back, and Kotarou opened his eyes, reaching up to drag his bangs back over his face. “We match,” Proto tapped his own bandages, grinning weakly, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.” He said, pushing himself up, his ribs and wrist and head throbbing with the movement. He could already feel the coolness from the ointment sinking below the skin. It would have been better to sleep, to wait for his wounds to heal, but there was no time. And his ribs weren’t as bad as Proto’s were, they and his wrist could wait. He would tend to them himself later. 

Proto sighed, “Well that’s a relief.” Kotarou bit the inside of his lip. Proto was too trusting, he’d always been. Kotarou always felt bad for lying to him, no matter how small the lie. He didn’t do it often, but each still ate at his conscious. Proto glanced up at him. “Have you tried contacting Gudako yet?”

“No.” He said, “She’s up above somewhere. If you could do that while I look around . . .”

“Yeah, I can.” Kotarou nodded and reached into his bag, digging around for the flashlight. He didn’t have another lantern. He’d have to beg a second off of Da Vinci once he got back. He stood, flicking on the beam. It diffused in the darkness beyond their little circle of light. He began to walk off, footsteps silent against stone. “Hey Fuuma,” Kotarou froze, turned around to watch Proto. He’d shed his metal armor, but was still wearing his black shirt and blue jacket. His head was tilted slightly, one side of his face covered with blood, the other shaded by his hair. His eyes almost glowed, too bright to be explained by the lantern. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m glad I’m stuck down here with you.”

For a second, Kotarou considered the statement. Being stuck down here with the Lion King would not have been too bad, she was reasonable and kept a cool head in danger, but being stuck down here with Jack or Hercules would not have been good. Mash might have been acceptable, but without Gudako to keep her steady, her fear might have overtaken her. And as for Gudako, Kotarou had no illusions. He knew he was not the best Heroic Spirit to entrust with her safety. He nodded, hair shifting, “Hai,” then walked into the dark.

It was a large cave, maybe twenty meters if Kotarou’s measurements were correct. He didn’t know how high it went, he couldn’t see the ceiling, and he didn’t trust his wrist enough to climb to the top. But their fall must have been long to deal the damages it had dealt. He located his  kusarigama perhaps a meter or so from where they had crashed against ground, the metal gleaming against the stone floor, and checked the blade for nicks and fractures. Nothing, it seemed to be in good shape, but he couldn’t properly tell with only the flashlight. He put it away for a later date. The walls of the cave were made of limestone, smooth and cold and wet beneath his fingertips, folding over and over, glowing pale in the weak light. The chamber wasn’t closed off, but had three branching pathways, twisting further beyond his flashlight’s beam. 

Kotarou returned to Proto’s side. The Lancer had finished, bandages white against his pale skin. He was scowling, his brows furrowed, his bright eyes glaring out into the dark. He held the vastly diminished roll of bandages loosely in one hand, the tin of ointment closed and pushed to the side. Beside it, his shirt had been folded neatly, dark blue against the grey rock. “Ah . . . Any luck?”

Proto blinked and looked at him, and between one moment and the next his armor was on again. “Nothing.”

Kotarou frowned, “She doesn’t know? I would think that Romani and Da Vinci would have a hypothesis by now.” He knew he did, pieces clicking together in the back of his mind. But Romani and Da Vinci were better at seeing the bigger picture then he was, and he didn’t have all the pieces he needed. The idea he did have though wasn’t a good one. He hoped he was wrong.

“No,” Proto growled, yanking at his hair as Kotarou began to put the first aid supplies away. “I couldn’t reach her. It’s just static.” Kotarou’s hands fell on Proto’s still warm shirt and he picked it up, slipping it into his bag. “What are you doing?” 

Kotarou looked up into Proto’s eyes, “Ah . . . putting it away? You aren’t wearing it.”

Proto stared at him for a few seconds, then coughed again, glancing away. “Uh, right,” he mumbled. “Right.”

Kotarou reached over to tug the roll of bandages from Proto’s fingers. He let go of it easily, and Kotarou put it away as well, straightening and slipping his bag into his jinburi. He left the lantern out, they would need it’s light. He kept his flashlight in his hand, the bulb flicked off. “Nothing but static?”

Proto shook his head, his blue hair catching the light with the movement. “Yeah. It’s like something’s interrupting our bond. I can tell where she is, but nothing beyond that.” He scowled, “Also, I feel weaker. Does that make sense? And it’s not just the injuries.”

Kotarou considered this for a moment, leaning back and fiddling with the flashlight.  _ “Gudako?”  _ He tried,  _ “Are you there? Can anyone hear me?”  _ Like Proto had said, a faint static sound, crackling in his ears and mind. He bit the corner of his lip, considering, then sent,  _ “If you can, Proto and I are trapped in a cave system. We are injured, but otherwise in one piece. We’ll try to get out and make our way to you.”  _ He looked up at Proto. The Lancer was watching him closely, eyes wide, cheeks flushed once again. Kotarou rolled the flashlight between his fingers. “I can’t contact her either.” As for feeling weak . . . he considered for a moment. He didn’t feel weak per say, but . . . “Hai. Something’s lowered the amount of mana we’re receiving.”

Proto cursed, “Probably the same thing that screwed with our rayshift. Shit.” He sighed heavily, then began to push himself up, stumbling to his feet.. 

Kotarou scrambled to his feet, grabbing Proto’s arm and pushing him down again. “Ah! No, you need to stay still! The ointment!”

“I would love to but we have no time!” Proto burst out, eyes flashing, hand gesturing wildly. “If our rayshift got messed with, then who knows where the others ended up? Gudako could be alone right now, and for all her luck with Servants, I don’t like her chances on her own in a situation that is completely out of control!” He took a deep breath, then looked away. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can just wait here for my wounds to heal.”

Kotarou bit his lip again, staring at Proto. His shoulders were stiff, and he hunched forwards slightly, as if waiting for an argument. Kotarou sighed. “Hai, you’re right.” He snagged the lantern, then reached over and grabbed Proto’s wrist, looping his arm around his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll support you as we go,” he said, ignoring Proto’s squeak of surprise. “Come on, this way. There’s a tunnel over here that has some air flow, it’s our best bet of getting out of here.” 

“Uh . . . yeah” Proto mumbled, a slightly strangled sound. He fell silent, and together, they made their way forwards. 

Proto was too warm, and it was worrying. Kotarou could feel the heat of him with every spot they touched, the arm looped around his shoulders, his own arm looped around Proto’s waist, the press of his side against his own. He tried not to stiffen at the contact, just kept his eyes forward, lantern held out before them. The light played on the wet walls and the stone beneath their feet, casting shadows on Proto’s armor and catching on the golden edges of his blue jacket. They’d barely spoken sense leaving the chamber, and the silence lay heavy between them. Kotarou didn’t like it. Proto wasn’t a quiet person. He laughed and he chatted, he growled and yelled, but he didn’t do silence. Silence was more Kotarou’s thing, but in the darkness of the cave and the gravity of the situation, he needed something to pull his mind off the possibilities that ate at his thoughts.

“Ah . . . would it be easier if I carried you?” He mumbled, ducking his head, trying to ignore the flash of heat across his cheeks that came with the question.

“Nope!” Proto yelped, tripping over his words, “Uh, not to, uh, nope. I’m good. I am good.”

“Ah . . . good.” 

For a few more moments, the silence returned. Then Proto broke. “Do you mind if I talk?” He blurted, and Kotarou shook his head. For a moment, his headache returned, then it fled once again. “Oh thank Lugh, I was dying. It’s just so quiet here, you know? Ominous .” Proto shivered dramatically, and Kotarou bit back a laugh.. 

“Hai.” Kotarou murmured, “ah . . . I was about to speak myself.” 

“Oh you where? That’s good.” Proto coughed, and Kotarou titled his head up to look at him. Proto didn’t look like he had spat up any more blood. Good, despite the walk his ribs were healing. Kotarou couldn’t say the same for himself. With each step, his ribs and wrist throbbed, the pulse echoing his heartbeat. Proto glanced down at him and grinned. “I mean, I would have hated to make you uncomfortable. You just-” He ran his free hand over his hair and looked away, “you don’t seem the type to like talking, that’s all.” There was something desolate in his tone, almost sad. 

Kotarou ducked his head, staring at the twisting path before them through his bangs. “Ah . . . I don’t mind talking. It’s just . . .” He sighed and let his words trail off. “I’m just bad at it,” he said finally.

“But you’re really not!” Proto blurted, and Kotarou glanced up at him again. Proto was staring down at him with his bright, burning eyes. Blood still coated half his face, mostly dry and flaking off in places, smeared across his bottom lip. “You talk a lot on rotation! And you’re very good at strategies. And you have so much weird knowledge. And you talk all the time during movies. You’re hardly bad at it.” 

Kotarou glanced away, “Ah . . .” His face was flaming, he could feel it, and he hoped that between his hair and scarf the blush was adequately hidden. Complements. He was bad with compliments. He’d always been bad at complements. “Thanks.” He mumbled, staring fixedly at the ground.

“You’re welcome.” Proto managed, after another strangled sound, and for a moment or two, silence reclaimed the air around them. “Have you ever played twenty questions?” Proto said finally, “I mean, we could play eye spy, but there isn’t anything to spy. And if I did end up singing Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the wall, I think you would end up killing me. So . . . are you good for a game?” 

Kotarou considered for a moment, then nodded. “Hai.”

“You will?” Proto sounded incredulous, and Kotarou stopped walking for a moment to stare at him.

“Hai, and that counts as a question.” He started forwards again, and Proto stumbled forwards with him, a surprised laugh bursting from his lips. It was a fleeting thing, cut off but echoing on the walls around them, and Kotarou restrained the urge to smile at the sound. “Do you have any idea what might have happened with the rayshift?”

“No,” Proto growled, “That’s not my area of expertise. You’re more likely to know then me. Do you have any idea?”

“Possibly, but I want to save that for when we find Gudako. Roman and Da Vinci might have an idea more thought out then mine.” Kotarou bit his lip for a second, watching the light play off the walls. Was that the sound of running water? Or was he imagining things? “Ah . . . which one of your other selves is your favorite?”

Proto blew out a harsh breath, his bangs rustling with the gust of air. “Damn, that’s hard. Probably Alter. CasCu’s fucking annoying, and Cu’s just as bad most of the time. Alter’s the only one who I can trust not to pry into my business. What would you do if another version of yourself got summoned?”

Kotarou sucked in a sharp breath, “I . . . ah . . . I don’t know.” There was only one version of himself he could think of that might be summoned to Chaldea, and he didn’t want people to see him like that. “Ah . . . what do you find calming?”

“Fishing. Or petting dogs. Both.” Proto grinned down at him, his teeth bright against the blood plastered against his face. “You?”

“Weapons maintenance,” he said immediately, “ah . . . reading is nice. Puzzles, when I can grab them from Gudako.”

“You can work those things?” Proto made a face, scrunching up his nose and scowling faintly, “they drive me up the wall.”

“They’re calming.” He protested, a bit too loudly. He flushed and looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. “As long as it’s not Gudako’s puzzle.” He admitted. For a moment, he thought of her face the one time he’d put in a piece of a puzzle she’d been working on. He winced. The repercussions had not been fun. “Ah . . . do you read?”

Proto made that face again, “Well, I will if I have too and there’s nothing else to do. CasCu’s hooked on books, and some of the ones he recommends aren’t half bad. What do you do for fun? And it can’t be maintenance, you’ve already said that’s calming.”

Kotarou frowned. “Ah . . . leaning? I like knowing things.” And being helpful, although that often went hand in hand with learning things. And maintenance and preparing supplies. Busy work, really. “You?”

“Hmm,” Proto tipped his head back, the lantern light glinting off the metal band around his throat. “Anything’s fun if I put my mind to it.” He looked down at Kotarou and grinned, light catching in his red eyes. “I’m not a complicated person.”

Somehow, Kotarou doubted that.

“Anyway,” Proto said, reaching out to run his fingers across the wall. There was a kink in the tunnel before them, a wedge of darkness cutting off the lantern light. Kotarou didn’t like the look of it, didn’t like not knowing what was in front of them. The sound of running water had gotten stronger, obviously not his imagination. “I was wondering what you have in that notebook of yours.”

“Ah?” Kotarou jerked his head around and up to stare into Proto’s face. The Lancer was leaning towards him slightly, curiosity shining bright in his eyes. “My notebook?”

He nodded, hair catching the light and sending shadows skittering across his pale skin. “Yeah, the one you were messing with on movie night.”

“Ah . . .” That one. Kotarou turned from him, stretching to throw the lantern’s light further in front of them. For a brief moment, Kotarou could see the wall beyond the kink, but nothing else. No help for it, he wasn’t going to leave Proto behind. They would have to go forwards without knowing what awaited them. “Ah . . . nothing much. More puzzles mostly.” They stepped forwards. By now their movements were in sync, and taking the turn was easy. “It’s busy work.” He stopped, Proto jolting to a halt beside him. “That’s promising.” Kotarou murmured. 

“Damn right it is.” Proto agreed.

The kink in the tunnel had opened up into another cavern, this one much smaller than the last. Half of it was smoothed down stone that sloped into a river of water that threaded down another tunnel. The water glinted darkly from the lantern’s light, lapping gently against the stone. Two ways they could go, follow the river down or go upstream. Either way could lead to the surface, it would just be a matter of time.

Kotarou glanced at Proto. His skin was still too pale, he was still feverish to the touch, and he was still coughing. That settled it then. “I think we need to take a break.” Proto stared at him, mouth opening to protest, but Kotarou continued, “We need to wash the blood off, and my thoughts are fuzzy.” The ointment had done a lot, but it hadn’t smoothed away the lingering headache. And helping Proto walk had not been kind to his ribs. Proto also needed a break, if only so they could remove his splint.

Proto nodded, “Yeah, okay.” He grinned awkwardly, “Help me over?”

“Hai.”

They made their way over to the river, and Kotarou set the lantern on the stone beside him. He pulled away from Proto’s side, sucking in a breath at the shock of cold air, then turned and plunged his fingers into the river. He yanked back immediately, icy water sluicing off his skin. Proto glanced at him, a handful of water shining in his palms. “You good?”

“Hai. Just cold.” He pulled out his bag and rummaged around for a towel. He dipped it carefully into the water, then pulled it out, watching the droplets fall.

“Really? Doesn’t feel cold to me.” Proto poured the handful of water over his head, the water running rivulets through the dried blood. Kotarou shrugged and began to wipe his face with the towel, wincing at the sting of cold against his skin. Proto coughed and spat. Kotarou jerked around, hand hovering over one of his kunai. “This is salt water!” Proto cried, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Kotarou reached out to touch the water, then pressed his fingers against his lips. Proto was right, it was salty. “High tide, I guess. Maybe low. But that means,” he leaned over and stuck his arm into the water, hissing at the bite of it. He pulled his arm out, shaking the droplets from his hand, and pointed down the passage, “we go that way.”

Proto turned his head, staring down the dark passage. “I hope this is high tide. I don’t want the passage to get flooded if it isn’t.” 

“Hai.” Kotarou folded his towel and passed it to Proto. Proto took it numbly, his hot fingers brushing against Kotarou’s frigid ones, and Kotarou bit off a hiss at the temperature difference. “I want to look ahead for a bit, just to make sure our path is unobstructed. Do you think you’ll be good here?” He’d had his breather, and something was bothering him, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

“Huh?” Proto shook his head and fixed Kotarou with his red eyes. “What about your head?”

“Still fuzzy, but good enough for scouting.” He smiled thinly, “I don’t want us to walk into a trap, and I can’t take you with me while scouting. So please, just stay here for a bit.” 

Proto watched him for a few seconds, before reaching up and wiping the last traces of blood from his face. “You think there will be something waiting for us, don’t you?”

Kotarou ducked his head, “Hai.”

Slowly, Proto nodded, then he shot out his hand and Gae Bolg fell into his grasp, the light playing over the patterns in the red metal. “Go ahead. I’ll be waiting here. It’s good to take off the splint now, right?”

Kotarou hesitated, then nodded. “Hai. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He pushed himself to his feet, then headed into the darkness. His footsteps were silent against the stone floor, the bright white and gold and red of his jinburi fading into the gloom as if it had been woven from shades of grey. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting them adjust to the inky blackness, then opened them again. He no longer needed the lantern to see, stepping into the shadows like it was second nature. And it was second nature, easier than breathing. Soon, he was flying down the tunnel, close to the ground, one kunai out just in case. 

Just another shadow in the darkness, impossible to track because it wasn’t really there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like I mentioned in incorrect quotes, if you commented before I this whole charade happened, I still have your quotes in Gmail, so I will be replying to them now. 
> 
> @MorgothII: Thanks so much! Yes, this is going to be a (hopefully) weekly update thing, but we will see how that goes. Fingers crossed. Glad you enjoyed and thanks for the comment!
> 
> @Dreeng: Thanks, glad you enjoyed!
> 
> @Yaoi Shipper: Lol, Emiya was absolutely disappointed. Also very confused. And yes, Mordred is defiantly Fuuma's one friend who will make him socialize at least once a week. Poor boy doesn't get a choice. Thanks for the comment and glad you enjoyed!
> 
> @gundumgrrl: You know, I never though about it like that, but you are one hundred percent correct about the Chulainn's having something for redheads. (also, Emiya Alter (I'll be calling him Edgemiya) will be in the Christmas fic, so heads up on that.) And thanks alot! I'm glad you're enjoying and I hope you don't freak your family out too much with the laughter!
> 
> @knowmeknot: Lol, it's Alter's main advantage over them. (although I think Proto also has a D rank luck, but he's a lancer so it washes out.) Anyway, thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying!
> 
> @RandyTrevelyan: Yeah, I too would pass on the soul consuming crush thing. And thanks! Jack was fun to write, creepy murder children can be super funny sometimes. And I shall do! Thanks, glad you enjoyed, and you too!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks again, me referencing the very 1st fic of shenanigans with Cascu flirting with Emiya, tragedy, poor proto (that’s a theme by now), the theory, enemies, and laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos! Hope you all enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ Proto gripped the false Gae Bolg tightly, feeling the press of metal against his palms. Beside him knelt Mash, her dark armor smeared with dirt. To his other side, Olga peered over the pile of rubble and burnt foliage they hid behind. Beyond Mash, Gudako sat, fingering the edge of her skirt nervously. Beyond her, Archer knelt, his two swords drawn and resting in his hands. Caster, contrary to all, stood easily, leaning against his staff. “Calm down,” he drawled, “I’m telling you, that idiot won’t sense anything. He never has before.” He flicked a lazy finger to the cave entrance, where the form of another Servant could just be seen.  _

_ Proto leaned back to send a disbelieving scowl at his older self. “Where in Lugh’s name did you learn presence concealment runes? I don’t remember Scatheth teaching those.” _

_ Caster glanced at his fingernails, “Well, brat, maybe you weren’t listening when she did.” _

_ “I’m not a -” _

_ “Fujimaru,” Olga snapped, “If you want to stay a Master, you’re going to have to keep your Servants under control. This is no time for bickering!” _

_ Gudako straightened, “Yes, Director!” She bit her lip, then stood, brushing out her skirt. “Are you sure about this, Caster?” _

_ Caster nodded, his lazy grin dropping from his face. “Yeah, I am. He and I have things to settle.” He gazed out where the half-seen Servant stood, a hard look on his face. Proto swallowed, he knew that look. The hardening of the gaze, the burning in his eyes. He would wear that look in the future many times. _

_ “Gudako,” and everyone jumped, spinning around. Out of the corner of his eye, Proto could see Olga reach up and touch her chest, taking a deep breath, but most of his attention was caught on Fuuma’s form. The small Assassin was crouched, fingers skimming the dirt, eyes hidden behind his mop of red hair. “I . . . ah . . . I think it would be wise to send me in to scout ahead.” He ducked his head slightly, the pale skin beneath his hair flushing red. “Of course the decision is yours.” _

_ Gudako opened her mouth, then closed it again, glancing back towards the cave entrance. “Honestly Fujimaru,” Olga snapped, “do you want to be a Master or not? He’s an Assassin, scouting is his job. Let him do it.” _

_ Gudako hesitated for a moment more, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah okay. Fuuma, go ahead and scout the cavern. Report back as soon as possible.” _

_ “Hai, Gudako.” Then Fuuma was gone, a blur of movement almost too fast to track. His presence disappeared, and Proto twisted around to watch the Archer at the tunnel entrance. He didn’t move, still as a statue in the shadows. _

_ Caster whistled, “Good kid.” He nudged Archer with his staff. “Don't you think?” _

_ “Refrain from talking to me.” Archer said, his voice drier than dust.  _

_ Proto poked Mash in the shoulder and she sent him a questioning look. He grinned, then rolled his eyes. Understanding dawned, and she nodded, a small smile flitting across her face. Olga made a harsh sound through her teeth. _

_ “Why Archer~,” Caster sang, “That’s pretty rude, don’t you think?” _

_ “Not for you, it isn’t.” Archer growled. _

_ Caster pouted, “That’s not anyway to talk to your -” _

_ “Shut up!” Archer sputtered, his ears going red. He turned to Gudako, “Master, if you absolutely have to summon this goon, please summon him as Lancer. I will end up killing this version otherwise.” _

_ “I’d have to agree with that, Gudako,” Caster said, leaning forwards slightly, “That way I can have Gae Bolg and thi -” _

_ “Could you please not.” Proto burst in, because as funny as it was, he had to fight along Archer. He wanted to be able to look the man in the face. “You’re embarrassing me.” _

_ “Come on,” Caster cried, throwing his hands into the air, “you know I’m right! You have eyes! You’re me! I know you can see!” _

_ “Would you two stop!” Olga snapped, “We are here for a very specific reason, not to listen to you bicker! Gudako, control your Servants.” _

_ “Oh, sorry.” She stared up at Caster, “Could you please leave him alone for a bit? As funny as it is, we need to focus.” _

_ Caster sighed, then saluted, “Yes ma’am.” _

_ “Funny?” Archer growled, “It’s not funny.” _

_ “I think it’s very interesting to watch!” Mash interrupted. “I never knew people could feel that strongly about each other.” _

_ Archer groaned, and CasCu grinned like a cat that had just gotten the cream. Proto stared at Mash for a few seconds, what was she, sixteen? Seventeen? Plenty old enough to have experienced crushes and young love. But she didn’t seem to notice how odd her statement was, just smiled gently, as if there was nothing wrong with her words. And Olga was watching her with an almost guilty expression. Proto didn’t like it, not one bit. _

_ “Gudako,” Fuuma’s voice, soft and crackling, and this time Proto managed to restrain his jump. “Saber is guarding the grail. There is no one else in the path between her and Archer.” A pause, then he ducked his head, his words very soft. “She’s waiting.” _

_ Gudako took a deep breath, then stood. “Okay, well then.” She turned to Caster, grinned slightly, something small and wavering and awkward. “You’re up.”  _

_ Caster nodded, his grin dropping from his face once again. Serious, almost cold, and Proto didn’t like the look of that expression. Caster was going into a fight, and older version of himself or not, he should have been excited. Now he just looked tired. He stalked around the pile of rubble and burnt bushes, spinning his staff in his hand. Proto could feel the moment when the concealment runes were dropped, Caster’s position lighting up like a beacon in his mind. “Archer,” he called out, all the playfulness gone from his voice, “are you just going to stand there or what?” _

_ For a moment, Archer didn’t move, then he stepped out from the shadows, his eyes fixed on Caster’s form. Proto sucked in a harsh breath and beside him, Mash stifled a gasp. It was Archer, their Archer, but different. His white hair wasn’t slicked back, but fell over his forehead in a tangled mess. The style made him look younger, but the jut of his jaw and the hardness in his face was the same as their Archer. His skin was a couple shades greyer, violent red lines marking half his face and trailing down one arm. His eyes were yellow, one eye’s sclera blackened. “Caster,” he said, his voice cold and empty. _

_ Caster clucked his tongue, his eyes narrowing. “Really Archer. Is that any way to address a friend?” _

_ The corrupted Archer’s face flexed for a moment. “We are not friends.” _

_ Caster leaned back, rolling his shoulders. “Denial isn't a good look on you.” He spun his staff in his fingers, pointed it at Archer. “Care to back that up?” _

_ Archer moved, a bow falling into his hands, arrow, no sword, pulled back and then flying through the air. Caster dodged, runes flashing, rocketing towards Archer, burning trails of light hanging in their wake. They burst against the ground, bright white and red flashes before fading away. Archer had evaded most of the blasts, but scorch marks decorated his shirt and arms. Caster laughed. Proto could hear the falseness of it. “Really Archer? You’re not trying or has that Grail mud knocked your brain loose? The Archer I knew would have known better than to try that trick on me.”  _

_ Archer’s face flexed again, and the bow was replaced by two familiar swords, somehow more fragile looking, chipped and worn. He lunged forwards, and for a brief moment, Caster met him, wooden staff straining against the dual blades before he twisted out of the way. “You’re slower too!” Caster called, “Can’t bring yourself to finish me off, Archer?” _

_ This time Archer growled, “You’re one to talk.” He lunged again, once again Caster blocked, this time stumbling back with the blow.  _

_ Caster continued his stumble back before regaining his feet. His eyes burned. His face was hard. “Prove me wrong.” Then he turned and ran, his cloak fluttering behind him. For a moment Archer wavered, leaning back towards the cave, before he raced off after him. They disappeared into the twisted and burnt forest, the sounds of Caster’s exploding runes following in their wake. _

_ Olga stood. “Come on. We don’t have much time.” _

_ Saber fell to Archer’s swords, her armor rent, blood trailing from her lips. Archer stepped back, eyes hard as his swords disappeared from his grasp. Saber stood there, wavering slightly, her pale skin blackened in places from Caster’s noble phantasm. “Victory for the power that protects? I see.” She spoke the words coldly, her voice devoid of emotion. “Such like that innocent one . . .” For a moment she paused, then smiled, a small thing, barely present. “Ultimately, no matter how fate changes, I face the same end when I’m alone.” She began to disappear, golden light flaking off her black armor and dress. _

_ Archer opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. It was Caster, bloody and missing both cloak and shirt from his battle with the corrupted Archer, who spoke. “What does that mean? Do you know something?” Proto agreed with the sentiment, it felt like Saber knew more than what she was saying. _

_ She lifted her chin. “Eventually, you will come to know, Ireland’s Child of Light. Grand Order. And the battle for the Holy Grail has just begun.” _

_ Caster stepped forwards, “Hey, wait! What do you mean by -” He stopped, staring at his hand. Golden flakes were peeling off his skin. Disappearing, he too was disappearing, and Proto didn’t know how to feel. Caster made a fist and growled, then turned around to stare at Mash and Gudako, who leaned wearily on each other. “Gudako, young lady, I’m leaving the rest to you.” His eyes flicked between Archer, and Proto. “Archer, brat, Fuuma, wherever you are, keep them safe.” _

_ Gudako stepped forwards. “Caster! Thank you.” _

_ Caster grinned, then winked in Archer’s direction. “If there’s a next time, summon me as a Lancer. And not like the brat either. Me me. With my actual spear.” Then both Saber and Caster were gone.  _

_ Proto growled, but it wasn’t heated. Caster had done good, even if he had disappeared at the end. “I’m not a brat.” It was the only goodbye he’d give his older self, this was no time to mourn. It was time to celebrate. _

_ “Both Caster and Saber are dead.” Mash said softly, “Did we win?” _

_ Proto spun around, away from the empty chamber, towards his Master and her Demi-Servant. “Yes. You did it! We won!” He laughed, spinning the false Gae Bolg in his hands before letting it disappear. _

_ “Hai. Congratulations, Gudako.” Fuuma murmured, appearing from the shadows behind Gudako. Gudako shrieked and jumped back, eyes wide. “Ah! My apologies.” Fuuma bowed, then stepped back, glancing away and tugging at his hair, face shaded red.  _

_ “No, no you’re fine!” Gudako said, rubbing the back of her head, “you just startled me, that’s all.” She blinked, then began to grin. “We did do it, didn’t we?” Her grin grew wider. “We won!” She reached over and yanked Mash into a brief hug before releasing her and spinning around. “We won and we’re all alive! thank you all so much!” _ _   
_ _ Archer snorted, and Proto grinned. Fuuma took another step back, fiddling with one of his knives nervously. Gudako’s wrist beeped, and Romani’s voice filled the air. “Well done you two! Ah, six! It looks like I can’t get visuals from there, so I can’t see your happy faces. Director, now we don’t have to worry about Singularity F!” _

_ There was a pause as they waited for Olga’s answer. Nothing was forthcoming. She stood, a little ways off, staring at the ground and Fou, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Grand Order,” she murmured, “How did that servant know that name?” _

_ “Director?” Gudako asked, and Olga stiffened. _

_ She turned around, an uncertain smile on her face, hands on her hips. “Well done, Mash, Fujimaru. The rest of you.” She nodded once, then smiled again, something more real this time. “Mash, even if you’re inexperienced, even if you’re a temporary Servant, your genuine wish unleashed that shield.” Mash smiled and nodded. Gudako clapped her on the back, grinning cheerfully. _

_ Proto left them too it, walking up to Archer’s side. “You knew her,” he said, “Saber.” _

_ Archer glanced at him, “A version of her.” _

_ “Like you knew a version of myself?” _

_ His eyes darkened, “Yes.” _

_ “Well,” Proto grinned at him, “Maybe the version you knew will be summoned! Both her and me!” _

_ Archer hummed noncommittally, and Proto left him to his moping or brooding or whatever. There was somebody else he needed to check up on. He approached Fuuma, who watched Gudako and Mash and Olga talk, head tilted slightly. Proto couldn’t see his eyes at all, but he had to see somehow. Or maybe he was blind? It wouldn’t matter if his hair was in front of his face then. Eh, questions for another time, there was a more important one to ask now. “Hey, are you okay? That hit you took from Saber looked pretty bad.” _

_ Fuuma started, head tilting back as if he was glancing up at him. For a moment Proto saw the trace of a flush on Fuuma’s cheeks, though whether it was the remnants of his previous one or the beginnings of a new one, he wasn’t sure. “Ah . . . hai. I’m . . . ah . . . I’m fine.” _

_ A clap. Then another. Then a series echoing off the walls of the cave. Everyone moved. Archer summoned his two swords. The false Gae Bolg fell into Proto’s grip. Fuuma disappeared, completely undetectable once again. Mash spun around, shield up. Gudako and Olga turned around sharply, ready for a fight. _

_ “My,” a man’s voice, and the sound of it raised the hairs on the back of Proto’s neck, “I never thought you would all get this far. And are there more of you? Of course there is. This is an unforeseen element of the plan that goes beyond what my tolerance allows.” A man appeared, backlit by the purple light that coated half the cavern.  _

_ Gudako dropped her guard slightly, “You’re . . .” _

_ “Professor Lev?” Mash asked, her shield lowering. _

_ “Professor Lev, you say?” Romani burst in. _

_ Olga made a sound, like she was restraining a sob. She lifted her hands to her chest, a relieved smile forming on her face. “Lev . . . Lev!” She began to run forwards, towards the figure. She knew this person, trusted this person, but something felt off. Proto didn’t drop his guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Archer get ready to move. “Thank goodness, you’re alive! Without you, I don’t know what I’d -” _

_ “Hello, Olga.” Lev said, not moving an inch. “It seems you’ve had a rough time, too.” _

_ “Yes, that’s exactly right Lev! With all of the unexpected events, I thought I would go crazy!” She took a shuddering breath, then looked up at him. “But now that you’re here, we’ll get through it somehow, won’t we?” _

_ “Of course,” he said, his voice echoing across the chamber. Proto resisted the urge to growl, there was something wrong about that voice, but he wasn’t an enemy, was he? “I’m just so furious with all these unexpected events. Romani, I told you to come to the control room right away.” _

_ “Lev?” Romani asked, and both Gudako and Mash stiffened. Olga slowed, surprise and confusion flashing across her face.  _

_ “And you Olga. I planted the bomb right under your feet. I can’t believe you’re still alive.” _

_ Everything froze.  _

_ “Well, not exactly alive.” Lev continued. For the first time his face was visible, the sharp teeth, the silted eyes. The features could barely be considered human. “In fact, you are dead. You’re physical body, anyway. When you were alive, you didn’t have the aptitude for Rayshifting. You couldn’t make the transfer when you had a body. Only when you went through your physical death, did you obtain the aptitude you so desired.” _

_ “What the hell are you talking about?” Proto burst out, jabbing in Olga’s direction with the false Gae Bolg. “She’s here, ain’t she? That’s plenty of proof she’s alive!” _

_ “Lies.” Olga whispered weakly. _

_ Lev tilted his head, his grin growing. “That’s why, the moment you return to Chaldea, your consciousness will cease to exist.” _

_ “I’ll cease to exist?” She breathed. _

_ “But that’s too miserable to contemplate. You dedicated your life to Chaldea. So the least I can do is show you what’s going on.” _

_ And the world behind him ripped.  _

_ Proto wasn’t familiar with the room he was showing, but the gasps from Olga, Mash, and Gudako told him it wasn’t supposed to look like this. An orb of red orange energy, the faintest trace of patterns on its surface. The orb was surrounded by rings of iron, dark against the hot glow. He almost dropped the false Gae Bolg at the sight, shock burning through his veins. What was he looking at? _

_ “Wha - what is that?” Olga burst out, “It’s not real, is it? That’s just a virtual image, right, Lev?” Her voice rose in desperation, and Proto glanced around towards Gudako. This man, they needed to take him down, now. But Gudako and Mash were frozen in shock, eyes wide and jaws slack at the sight. He glanced towards Archer, caught his eye. He didn’t know where Fuuma was, but he was certain the Assassin was thinking the same thing. They had to intervene, with or without their Master’s orders. _

_ “It’s the real thing,” Lev said. “I linked space-time together for you. You see, with the Holy Grail, even this is possible. “So, take a good look, scion of the Animusphere family. This is the fate of your family's lunacy.” He stuck out a hand, and even with the purple light, it glowed bright gold. _

_ That was when Fuuma struck. His chain wrapped around Lev’s arm, pulled Lev off his feet. Archer switched his swords for a bow, arrow knocked and drawn. Proto pulled back, got ready to throw the false Gae Bolg, the familiar incantation falling from his lips. _

_ Lev growled, and light burst from him, a wave of force that threw Proto off his feet and interrupted his incantation. He skidded back a few feet, gasping for breath. Archer was in a similar state, blood trickling from his lips. There was the sound of a body impacting rock and the chain around Lev’s wrist loosened. Lev pushed himself up, brushing off his jacket, a snarl on his lips. He jerked out his hand again, the light glowing brighter.  _

_ Olga shrieked, lifting off the ground, struggling and kicking ineffectuality. “Hey what are you-!” _

_ “As this is the end, I’ll make your wish come true. You may touch your treasure.” _

_ “What are you talking about? Stop it! That’s Chaldeas!” _

_ “Yes, it’s no different than a black hole. Or perhaps the sun. Either way, if a human touches it, they’ll be split apart on a molecular level. You will experience infinite living death.” _

_ Finally, Gudako snapped out of it. “Hey! What are you doing? Let her go!” She lunged forwards, and Lev’s eyes snapped to her. _

_ Fuuma appeared from nowhere and knocked her down to the ground. “No, Master,” he hissed, “you can’t.” _

_ “We have too!” Gudako struggled in his grip, but she was no match for him. “He’ll kill her!” _

_ “No.” Mash breathed, “no. Director!” She moved, and Proto pushed to his feet and grabbed her. They couldn’t stop him, not now. It was too late, they should have acted sooner.  _

_ He doubted it would have made much of a difference if they had.  _

_ “No . . . NO! Somebody! Somebody help me!”  _

_ In his grasp, Mash sobbed, and he could hear Gudako’s wail, loud and broken.  _

_ “Why? Why does this always happen to me?”  _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, Proto could see Archer push himself up, summoning his bow again.  _

_ “No, don’t! No no no no no!” _

_ Lev wasn’t watching them any longer, his eyes followed Olga’s path towards Chaldeas.  _

_ “I mean, I haven’t done anything yet!” _

_ Archer knocked a sword, whispered something. It slimed down to form an arrow form in his grip. _

_ “No one’s ever praised me for anything!” _

_ Archer pulled back, his face hard. _

_ “NO!” _

_ Olga’s final long, drawn out scream echoed through the air. Archer shot, his arrow flashing as it carved it’s path to it’s target. Proto turned Mash’s head so she couldn’t see, ignoring the splash of her tears against his fingers. He hoped Archer’s arrow had flown true.  _

_ “Oh no.” Mash breathed, then she shrugged Proto off with a force that surprised him, lunging over to slam her shield in front of Gudako and Fuuma. Tears tracked through the dirt and the blood plastered to her cheeks, but her face was firm.  _

_ Lev turned to them. “As expected of a Demi-Servant.” He spread his arms wide. “You could tell I was a fundamentally different creature, couldn’t you?” In Fuuma’s grip, Gudako stopped struggling, a harsh sob rattling through her chest. “The 48th Master candidate,” Lev continued, “I turned a blind eye to you because you held no promise. Yet here you are, with a Demi-Servant and three real ones by your side. Why do humans always want to avoid the course of fate that is chosen for them?” He shook his head, then placed his hand over his chest, bowed. “I will introduce myself once more. I am Lev Lynor Flauros. I am in charge of the 2016, tasked to dispose of your human race. Are you listening, Dr. Romani?” _

_ “Professor Lev,” the doctor said numbly. _

_ “As fellow students who studied magecraft together, I’ll give you one final piece of advice. The future has not disappeared, it has been incinerated. Chaldea is probably protected by the magnetic field of Chaldeas, but I’m sure the outside is meeting the same fate as Fuyuki.” _

_ Gudako made a noise in the back of her throat, and Proto agreed. The world, destroyed. It couldn’t be possible, could it? _

_ Romani spoke again, his voice cold. “The reason we couldn’t make contact with the outside isn’t because communications are down, but because there’s no one outside to receive them.” _

_ Lev laughed. “You will not perish because humanity reached the end of it’s evolution, nor will you perish from engaging in war with a foreign species. Rather, from your meaninglessness, and your incompetence, and because you have lost the favor of our king! You will burn away like useless waste paper, leaving no trace behind!” _

_ The earth shook at his words, and Proto jerked into action, lunging until he was by Gudako’s side. Archer fell back to cover her other side, and Fuuma let go. She pushed herself up to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury and tears.  _

_ “This is . . .” Mash breathed as the room began to collapse around them. _

_ “This Singularity has also reached its limit, eh? The accursed Saber caused me unnecessary trouble, trying to maintain this time period even while being awarded the Holy Grail.” He shook his head and stepped forwards. “And so, farewell, Romani, Mash, and the 48th candidate.” He disappeared in a flash of light, the picture of Chaldeas disappearing with him. _

_ A huge rock crashed against the ground, and Mash jerked her shield up. Rubble clattered across the metal and stuck the floor around them. “The cave is collapsing! No, even before that, this space is unstable! Doctor, please activate the rayshift quickly!” _

_ “I know!” His voice was strained. “But I’m sorry, the place might collapse around you first!” _

_ “Wonderful.” Archer growled. _

_ Gudako shook her head, “No, Doctor, I believe you can do this. Get us out of here!” _

_ A strained laugh, “Anyway, you can still be salvaged if -” _

_ “Doctor!” _

_ A rock crashed against Mash’s shield, and beneath them, the ground ruptured. Proto lunged forwards, grabbing hold of her leg, his other hand snagging Gudako’s outstretched arm. Archer had done the same, and Fuuma had a hand clinging to her shoulder. For a few moments they were all falling, falling, falling.  _

_ Then Proto hit cold metal, the air rushing from his lungs and blackness claiming his vision. _

Proto tossed the last of the bandages aside and removed the splints from his leg. His skin was unbroken, but smeared with mostly dried blood. Damn. Fuuma’s ointment really was something. It didn’t beat magical healing, but it sure was a whole lot better than nothing. Proto reached out and snagged the towel Fuuma had given him, scrubbing the blood off of his leg. It had been around five minutes since Fuuma had left, and he hadn’t returned. Logically, this made sense, scouting took longer than five minutes, but still . . . Proto didn’t like it.

Fuuma believed that there would be enemies waiting for them, and Proto believed it too. It would be just like his luck to throw them enemies when they were both broken and bloodied, disoriented from whatever the hell had just happened to them. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back.  _ “Gudako?”  _ Nothing but static, so he tried something different.  _ “Fuuma?”  _ This time the static was louder, a crackle that popped and faded, and Proto could barely make out words beneath the noise. But there were words beneath the noise. At least, he thought there were.

Possible enemies. He couldn’t contact anyone. He wasn’t receiving as much mana as he should be. The rayshift had gone awry. And Gudako was somewhere above, possibly alone and defenseless. Proto growled and collapsed back against the stone. He stared up at the cave ceiling, the outlines of rocks that could just be seen. “This fucking sucks.” 

His words echoed off the walls, and he winced. Fuuma was scouting and the Assassin certainly didn’t need Proto to bring attention to their location. Fuuma . . . Proto closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. He could see the Assassin’s face in his mind, not from the debacle yesterday, but today. His red hair plastered against his forehead, darkened and clumped by blood. The unsteadiness in his eyes, how he had kept phasing out. Proto had put Fuuma’s miracle ointment on his head wound, it should help, right? If he’d had a concussion, it was probably healed by now. Besides, Fuuma knew his limits, he wouldn’t have gone scouting if he couldn’t handle it.

Fuuma also had a tendency to ignore his own wounds until the crisis had passed. Proto had seen it in Fuyuki, in Orleans, in Rome, in Okeanus, in London, in America, in Camelot. 

Proto pushed himself up and grabbed Gae Bolg. He held on to the comforting weight of his spear and forced those thoughts from his mind. Fuuma knew his limits, and he was scouting. He was the best at scouting, and he wasn’t the type to make a stupid, spur of the moment decisions. Proto just had to wait.

He hated waiting.

By the time Fuuma came back, Proto had replayed their conversation in the tunnel about ten times. It was better than thinking about Gudako and what might have happened to her. Fuuma liked calming things, weapons maintenance, reading, puzzles. Proto got it, there was a limit to how much chaos anyone could stand. He wondered what Fuuma’s limit was. Fuuma was friends with Mordred, so it couldn’t be low. Proto grinned slightly, staring at the water in front of him. It caught the light, hiding what lay beneath the surface. Probably more rocks, maybe some fish. Would Fuuma like to go fishing with him? He might find it relaxing.

“Ah . . . Proto.”

Proto didn’t yelp, he’d gotten better at that, but he did jump up, a flush flashing across his face. He spun around, stared at Fuuma’s small form. The Assassin’s presence didn’t register in his mind, which meant . . . “Enemies.”

Fuuma ducked his head, “Hai. Wraiths, about twenty meters down that tunnel.” He tilted his head towards the tunnel he had just excited. “I’m not exactly sure what is beyond them, but I can sense something, something strong.” He bit his lip, and Proto swallowed. “I . . . ah . . . am afraid my working theory might be correct.”

Proto sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, working theory. Care to share?” He grinned, spinning Gae Bolg in his fingers.

Fuuma nodded, “Hai.” He sat, his jinburi a pool of white and black around him. Proto sat across from him, resting Gae Bolg against his shoulder. “In our previous singularities, our enemies have known of Chaldea’s presence. The amount of information they have had varies, but they are aware of us. Ah . . . I think someone took precautions this time. They split us apart, cut off communications, disrupted our mana supply, and will most likely try to take us out one by one. Romani was right, this isn’t just another farming run.” 

“Shit.” Proto leaned back, glared up at the ceiling. “Should have listened to the doctor.”

“Hai.” Fuuma murmured, “but we have no choice now but to continue moving forwards.” He stood, drawing one of his kunai, flipping it over and over in his hand before tucking it away again. “Ah . . . is your leg and lungs better?”

Proto jumped to his feet, ignoring the flash of warmth in his chest at the question. “Yep. I feel as good as new. You?”

Fuuma nodded, “Hai.” 

Proto stared at him for a few moments, taking in the set of his shoulders and the way he stood. He didn’t look injured, but Proto could still feel the lingering press of Fuuma’s body beside him, his labored breathing echoing in his mind. Fuuma was strong, there had to be a reason for the pained breathing besides Proto’s weight.

Fuuma tilted his head, “Ah . . . are you ready to head out?”

Proto jerked, heat flashing across his cheeks. Staring. He’d been staring. Shit. He coughed and looked away, “Yeah,” he managed, “Let’s. The sooner out of here, the sooner we can find Gudako.” 

Fuuma nodded, then turned around, starting down the tunnel. Proto followed him, snagging the lantern as he went. He turned the light down low, until only a small orange glow pushed through the sides. They were both cast into shadow, the blazing white of Fuuma’s jinburi fading to grey. Fuuma’s footsteps were silent, but Proto’s could still be heard, the faint click of his sabatons against stone. He didn’t try to start up a conversation, not with enemies ahead of them. He just kept Gae Bolg light in his hand and his ears open. 

Soon, he caught the bounce of light off stone. Different then the frail beams from the lantern. Colder. Frost crawled over the sides of the cave, pale against the dark stone. Proto glanced down at Fuuma, and Fuuma nodded back at him before disappearing into the dark. Carefully, Proto set the lantern down on the cave floor, leaving the light on so they could find it later. He held Gae Bolg in two hands, waiting for Fuuma to get into position. 

Waiting . . .

Waiting . . .

Now.

He lunged forwards, a blur of color and a streak of red. The cold light increased till beams hung in the air, dancing pale blue in the darkness. Proto could see the wraiths now, their skeletal bodies, their torn veils, the gaping sockets filled with ice blue light. Everywhere he went, they were the same. He would think there was some variety with the time period and place being different, but no. Always the same face, and now, he could put his frustration and confusion to good use. 

He hit the first one, Gae Bolg slamming into its rib cage and jabbing into it’s spine before he yanked his spear out. He could feel the blood thirsty grin stretch across his face as he lashed out with Gae Bolg, the end cracked against a skull as he spun around, knocking away two grasping hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a bloom of fire, Fuuma’s form outlined by the flickering flames just for a moment before gone again. Cold, scraping against his side, and Proto cursed, lunging out of the reach of claws, spinning Gae Bolg before splitting open a skull. Focus, not on Fuuma, but the enemy. By Lugh, if Scatheth had seen him . . . he shook his head hard and dodged away from another claw. Battle, focus on the battle. He grinned wider, and lunged forwards, Gae Bolg a blur in his hands. Bones broke, one of the wraiths wailed and faded away. 

Wonderful, only ten more to go.

Another wail, and Proto felt a light touch on his shoulders before Fuuma was in front of him, jinburi flapping and kunai flashing through the air to bury into the eye sockets of three more wraiths. Proto spun around, Gae Bolg smacking away arms that reached for him. He kicked out, his foot crashing into a ribcage and sending bone shards clattering to the ground. Another wail, loud and piercing, and for a moment he had to shake his head to get rid of the ringing noise in his ears. Behind him, Fuuma bumped his shoulder, and he spun around, striking with Gae Bolg. The spear buried into the skull of a lunging wraith. It screamed and faded, there was another wail from behind him. 

Six more to go.

Proto swung Gae Bolg up, cracking the head of a wraith with Fuuma’s kunai still in its socket. It fell back, and another took its place. A chain lashed out, wrapping around the injured wraith’s neck and yanking it forwards. It ran into Proto’s spear, and he spun Gae Bolg to fend off the next attack as it’s wail filled the air. He and Fuuma moved in tandem, blades flashing, bones cracking at each impact. Fuuma ducked and weaved around Proto’s attacks, targeting joints and yanking wraiths into range. Proto manned their defense, spinning Gae Bolg in wide circles, knocking away hands and breaking bones with each swing. It wasn’t long before the last of the wraiths disappeared, its wail and light lingering in the dark before fading fully out. Proto leaned on his spear, rubbing bits of frost off his cheek. He was the son of Lugh, frost didn’t bother him that much, but Fuuma had no such protection. Proto nudged the Assassin with his elbow. “You good?”

Fuuma looked up at him. Proto could just make out the gleam of one eye, the brightness of it piercing through the dark. “Hai.” His breath clouded in the air, pale against the gloom. “A little cold, but uninjured.”

Proto hesitated, then set his hand on Fuuma’s shoulder. Fuuma was cold, and for a moment Proto thought that Fuuma leaned into the touch, but then the Assassin stepped out of his grip, walking towards where they’d left their lantern. Proto let his hand fall to his side, and took a deep breath. “A couple of wraiths aren’t enough to hold back a servant or two.”

Fuuma looked back at him, his eyes shining too bright in the dark. Proto’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. Fuuma looked like he belonged there, barely seen, his clothes mixing with the shadows, his eyes the only thing Proto could make out completely. He looked like he was from a different world, and Proto ached to reach out to make sure Fuuma really was solid, not a creature of his imagination. Then Fuuma nodded sharply, his voice cracking softly as he spoke. “Hai, there will be more dangerous adversaries ahead.”

Proto wrinkled his nose and began walking forwards. “Wonderful.”

Three more roaming packs of ghosts and one chimera nest later they took a break. Proto slid down the cave wall, gasping for breath. The chimeras’ had been fun to fight, but he’d still been hurt enough times to be annoyed. He glanced up at Fuuma, whose arm looked worse then it probably was. He’d taken the edge of one of their burst attacks, and black ash dotted across his jinburi and mixed with blood on his arm. “Hey Fuuma,” he called softly, and the Assassin stiffened and spun around, a flush flashing across his cheeks. “Could you pass me your ointment? I want to see your arm.”

For a few seconds Fuuma stared at him, then he nodded. “Hai,” he stepped over and sat beside Proto, rustling around in his jinburi. “The tide is going out.” He pulled out the tin and passed it over.

Proto took it gingerly, trying not to suck in too harsh a breath when their fingers touched. “How long do you think we have until we find the exit?” He popped open the tin, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Was there less in it than there had been? Maybe, he couldn’t tell for sure.   
“I . . . ah . . . don’t know.” Fuuma murmured. 

“Well shit.” He said, forcing some cheer into his voice. He set the tin aside and pulled out the towel Fuuma had given him. It was no longer wet, instead dried and crusted with the blood he’d washed off earlier. He sighed and pushed himself up, dipping the towel in the receding saltwater before returning to Proto’s side. Carefully, he began to wash the ash and blood of Fuuma’s arm. The Assassin hissed at the contact, and Proto pulled back, “Shit, are you okay?”

Fuuma ducked his head, “Hai.” 

Proto chewed the inside of his cheek then nodded, forcing his eyes back towards Fuuma’s wound and not the profile of his face. “Hey, we never got to finish our game of twenty questions.”

Fuuma’s lips flexed as if he was hiding back a smile. “What’s your favorite thing to do?”

Proto froze, his hands stilling on Fuuma’s arm. He could feel the ripped and blistered skin beneath his fingertips, could hear Fuuma’s even breaths filling the air between them. Numbly, he realized Fuuma was looking at him, his red eyes just visible through his bangs. The light from the lantern lit the curve of his jaw, his small nose, turned what could be seen of his eyes into living flames. Proto swallowed hard, feeling heat rush across his face. He looked down, back at Fuuma’s wound, and forced himself not to stutter when he said, “Hanging out with my other selves. They are annoying as fuck, but they understand me.” He swallowed again and glanced back up into Fuuma’s burning eyes, “What about you?”

Fuuma stared at him for a few moments, then looked back out at where the waters lapped low against the cave floor. “I . . . ah . . .” he fell silent again, biting his lip. Finally he glanced down, red spreading across his cheeks, “ . . . ah . . . I like to collect weapons.” He smiled, a small faint thing, and for a moment Proto’s brain stopped working. “There are just so many types, and they are made in so many different ways, and . . .” He bit himself off, his cheeks darkening, “Ah . . . sorry.”

“No, no don’t be sorry!” Proto blurted out, face flaming even harder. By Lugh, his cheeks hurt. “If you like something, you should talk about it! But only if you want to! You don’t have to force yourself to talk for my sake! Fuck, I mean, if you want to, agh, bandages. I need bandages.” He placed his face in his hand and sighed, holding out his other. “Please?”

And Fuuma laughed, stuttering and awkward, as if he wasn’t used to the sound. His laugh dissolved into giggles, his shoulders shaking, that small smile still on his face. “Hai,” he managed, digging out the roll of bandages and holding it out to Proto. “Here.”

Proto remembered breathing was a thing, and jerked his gaze away. Bandages. Bandages were also a thing. “Yeah,” he got out, reaching out to grab the roll of bandages, counting his lucky stars that CasCu wasn’t here to see this. He forced himself to focus on bandaging the wound, not the remnants of Fuuma’s laughter faded into the air. He failed, he knew he failed. He pulled back, pressing the tin and bandages against his hands. “How does it feel?”

Fuuma moved his arm. “It doesn’t hurt too much.” He hesitated, tilting his head slightly. “Ah . . . what about you? I think you got hit a couple times.”

Proto made a face, “Yeah. Got a slash across the side from the last one.” He reached over and pressed his hand against his side, removed it to reveal a palm smeared red. “I think at this rate we’re going to end up using all your ointment.”

Fuuma bit his lip and nodded, “Hai, you might be right.” He hesitated, then continued, “You can use runes to heal, correct?”

Proto nodded, “My rune craft isn’t as strong as CasCu’s, but yeah, I can. You think we switch off and on? Use your ointment for these and then my runes for the next?”

Fuuma ducked his head, “Hai. Ah . . . I’m not sure how often we should use your runes though. How much mana do they take?”

Proto shrugged, dipping his fingers into the ointment and tending to his own wounds. “Nice thing about runes, they don’t take much mana. I could manage a few before casting becomes a struggle.” He passed the tin over to Fuuma and began to wrap his torso. 

Fuuma watched him, “Good.” He frowned thoughtfully, and Proto wished for the laughter back, the unexpectedness of it. “Ah . . . we should get moving soon.”

Proto took a deep breath, testing the tightness of the bandages. Not too bad, he’d survive. “You’re right.” He stood, then held out a hand for Fuuma. Fumma stared at it for a few seconds, then reached out to grab it. Proto hauled him to his feet, trying to ignore the way Fuuma’s hand fit into his. How small and cold it was against his own, the callosus different then the ones decorating his own hands. Fuuma let go as soon as he was on his feet, and Proto missed the contact, brief though it had been. “Are you going to scout or . . . ?”

Fuuma bit his lip again, then shook his head. “The number of enemies we’ve encountered has been increasing, and I don’t like the idea that some might come this way from areas we haven’t explored. I think staying together is the best option for now.” 

Proto nodded, then grinned at him, bowing at the waist before sweeping out his hand. “After you, then.”

Fuuma’s lips twitched, another almost momentary smile, and he nodded, scooping up the lantern before stepping into the dark. Proto followed him, Gae bolg at the ready, Fuuma’s smile and laughter still lingering in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Chulainns are disasters and nothing can change this. 
> 
> Some of you might have seen this, but MorgothII and I have fate server on discord! If anyone’s interested, here’s the link! https://discord.gg/VWvZ6sgavF Join us! It’ll be fun I swear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Fuyuki, me realizing Fuuma prob gets a kick out of scaring people, look he thinks its funny, also me desperately trying to look up if Japan has a general word for hydra, spoilers: they don’t, Fuuma’s paranoia comes in handy, wikipedia is my new best friend, a pirate appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! Each and every one is the best. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, have a good day, and happy holidays!

_ Chaldea carried the scars from Lev’s betrayal. It was written with the scorch marks on the walls, drawn in the lines on people’s faces, evident in the empty rooms and the full med bays. Kotarou wandered the halls, taking it all in. This is what Lev had wrought, what he had done to the Director’s dream. But the scars were deeper than just this. Most of the med bay had been damaged in some way, and many of the other facilities around Chaldea had been partly destroyed. And people were dead, so many people. Masters, mages, ordinary people, the director. He had tried to learn their names, but they blurred and slipped from his fingers like grains of sand. _

_ He had never been good at remembering the names of the dead.  _

_ Kotarou stopped at a metal door and stared at the name engraved onto the surface. Fujimaru Ritsuka. Gudako’s true name. He raised his hand to knock, only to let it fall to his side. From within, he could hear sobs, heavy, racking, soul tearing sobs. Mourning, Gudako was in mourning. For the Director, for everyone else who had been lost, for the entirety of the human race. _

_ He stood there listening to her sobs. He couldn’t help her. He was the one who had stopped her from attempting to help the Director. He was the one who had held her down as the Director had cried for help. He had nothing to offer except advice, and his advice would be for her to get moving, get working, because things would not fix themselves and it was easier to focus on work then on grief. But she, everyone, deserved to have time to mourn. He could give her today at least. _

_ He left, his feet padding silently against the metal floor of Chaldea. The facility was so different then anything he had ever known, but the destruction was familiar. It brought back memories of a different time.  _

_ He chose a path at random, and found himself in the med bay. Romani, the new director, was working, treating patients with a single mindedness that was impressive. He had so many responsibilities to deal with, but he was here because Lev had taken out most of the medical team. He chatted with his patient, laughing softly and smiling while he tended wounds, even if both his and his patient’s eyes were dark from grief. He finished, marking up the pages on his clipboard, then moved on to the next with another smile and a wave. Romani was different with his patients, less serious. A goof, but a helpful goof, kind and caring. _

_ For a moment or two, Kotarou watched him. He and Gudako’s other two servants had only been here for two days, but already Archer and Proto had managed to find their niche. Archer had taken over the kitchens and had also begun doing any little chores that needed attending too, freeing up staff for important things. Proto was helping fix the areas Lev’s explosions had damaged, moving debris too heavy for any human to lift. But Kotarou did not know what to do. He’d passed out rations, but the one person who had actually tried them ended up in the infirmary. He’d considered helping engineering, but he didn’t want his lack of knowledge to become an impediment.  _

_ Finally, when Romani was between patients, he approached. “Ah . . . Director?” _

_ The man jerked away, screamed, and landed on his back foot, teetering for balance. The sight was almost funny. For a moment Romani stared at him, wide eyed, then he coughed and set his foot down on the floor. “Don’t scare people like that! I could have had a heart attack!” He took a deep breath, placing his hand over his chest, before regaining a slightly nervous smile. “Well, what do you need?”  _

_ Kotarou reached out, his tin of ointment in his hand. He’d been summoned with one, but more would be useful. When the alchemy labs were back up and running, he would have to invest some time in them. “Ah . . . this helps a lot with wounds.” He mumbled, “I . . . ah . . . thought you would find it useful.” _

_ For a few moments Romani stared at him, then he smiled, reaching out to snatch the tin. “This will be a lot of help. Are you any good with first aid?” _

_ Kotarou ducked his head. “Ah . . . Hai.” _

_ “Good, I know you’re Gudako’s servant, but do you mind helping out?” Romani rubbed his head sheepishly, “We’re a bit short staffed at the moment.” _

_ Kotarou nodded silently. Perhaps he could not name the dead, but he could at least try to name the living. _

_ Gudako came in the next day, shoulders straight with Mash at her side. Her eyes were red rimmed, her skin pale and waxy, but her face was set. “Romani, I would like to attempt a summoning.” _

_ Romani looked back at her, grinning. “Good! We’ll be done here in a bit, and I’ll call for you after I’ve got the summoning room prepared.” _

_ She nodded, and her eyes fell on Kotarou. Her jaw worked, then she sighed. “I want to say thank you. If you hadn’t stopped me, there is a good chance Lev would have killed me. So thank you.” She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. She nodded, turned, then strode out of the room. Mash hesitated before sending a small smile Kotarou’s way and falling in step behind her.  _

_ “Hey Fuuma,” Romani called, “Take a break for a bit, okay? I’ll call you when the summoning starts.” _

_ “Ah . . . hai. But you should take a break too, Director, you . . . ah . . . you have been working longer than I have.” Romani laughed and agreed, something they both knew was a lie, but Kotarou would take it. He left, drifting down the hallways once again. Distantly, he heard voices, Mash’s soft tones and Proto’s brash ones. He headed that direction, keeping to the shadows out of habit. He’d been right. Gudako, Mash, and Proto were talking, about the upcoming summoning and about Lev. Kotarou closed his eyes and swallowed, listened as Mash and Gudako walked off once again.  _

_ Proto sighed, running one hand through his hair and placing the other on his hip. Kotarou hesitated for a moment, then stepped out of the shadows, allowing his Presence Concealment to drop. Proto’s reaction was immediate. He jumped, his green spear appearing in his grip. Unlike Romani, he didn’t scream, and he landed in guard, ready for action. _

_ Kotarou stepped back, putting his hands up in front of him. “Ah . . . my apologies!” _

_ Proto’s eyes widened and he dropped his spear. “No! Shit. You’re fine! I just didn’t see you there.” He relaxed, rubbing his hair. “Uh, did you need me for something or . . .” _

_ Kotarou bit his lip, staring at the ground. Why had he approached Proto? There was no reason to talk to him. “I . . . ah . . . no.” He turned and began to walk away. _

_ “Wait!” In a second, Proto was by his side, bent slightly at the waist, grinning. “We’ve barely talked since coming to Chaldea. Both you and Archer have been hiding away. I get Archer, it must be hard to look at me and see . . . uh . . . his version of me? But you don’t have that excuse.” _

_ Kotarou stopped and looked at him, brow furrowing. “Ah . . . we are weapons. There is no reason for us to talk.” _

_ Proto groaned, rocking back onto his heels and tilting his head up. “Yes there is! We’re fighting on the same side, aren’t we? It’s not like we’ll have to fight each other. I don’t see the harm in getting to know my fellow Servants.” _

**_“Gudako, Mash, the Summoning Chamber is prepared.”_ ** _ Romani’s voice filled the hallway, and Kotarou almost sighed in relief.  _ **_“I’ll be waiting for you.”_ **

_ “Ah . . . we should probably go.” Kotarou said. He started off, ducking his head so Proto couldn’t see his face. He could hear the Lancer’s footsteps as they echoed of Chaldea’s walls, could feel the weight of his gaze on his shoulders. He didn’t have to look to know questions swam in the depths of his red eyes. Finally, Kotarou spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I . . . ah . . . I don’t like talking about myself.” _

_ Proto sighed, “Okay, if you don’t want to, then I won’t ask. But hey,” Kotarou felt an elbow nudge his shoulder, and he looked up. Proto was grinning again, all his bright white teeth on display. “We are going to be fighting next to each other, so I hope we can get along.” _

_ Kotarou ducked his head. “Ah . . . hai.” _

Kotarou threw himself to the side, rolling across the cave floor as a head snapped down to where he’d been standing moments before. He kept moving, his kunai in his hands, as the darkness writhed and roiled, striking at him with a dozen mouths. Distantly, he could see Proto doing his own desperate dance with the weaving heads, his spear a blur as he struck and dodged. Kotarou bent backwards, a tail whipping over his head. He tossed one of his kunai, it buried itself in the orochi’s hide. The orochi didn’t cry out in pain, of course it didn’t, all the damage he could deal was insignificant at best.

He really should have scouted ahead. 

The orochi screamed as Proto managed to bury Gae Bolg into one of it’s heads, the head flopping to the ground as the Lancer yanked out his spear, black blood flying through the air. Kotarou sent his other kunai spinning, it shot through the air, burning into the eye of another head. He wasn’t sure how helpful that would be, this orochi lived in darkness, he doubted blinding it would do much good. But perhaps the opposite . . . He danced back, feet skipping silently over the ground. He flipped over another head as it struck, fingers brushing stone, air encasing his form, then his feet landed on the scaly head and he ran forwards along the neck even as it twisted underneath his feet, drawing his kusarigama and sending the hook whipping out. It caught in another neck, burying deep into scales and flesh. That head jerked, screaming, and Kotarou was yanked off his feet, sent flying towards the opposite end of the cavern. More heads jerked in his direction. He let go, they shot towards him and he twisted mid air to slip between their grasp. He fell to the ground by Proto's side, his palm hitting the stone with a hard smack. Flames lit the darkness and the orochi shrieked. “Proto, your runes!”

Proto stared at him for a moment, then jerked into action, even as red flashed across his cheeks. “Yeah!” He switched Gae Bolg to a one handed grip, his fingers sketching glowing trails of light into the air. They burst into flames just as the creature lunged down at the two of them, mouths wide and teeth gleaming in the dark. Fire raced around them in a circle of flickering light, and the orochi reared back, screaming in pain, scales singed and seared. Kotarou threw another kunai, it cut through the flames and buried itself in the throat of another head. It fell limply to the ground, crashing against the stone. 

“My apologies,” Kotarou said, drawing another kunai. “I should have scouted ahead.”

Proto growled, “No worries. We knew something like this would be waiting for us anyway. I just didn’t expect it to be so damn annoying!” But for all the anger in his voice and eyes, there was a grin on his face, wide and bloodthirsty. Kotarou’s lips twitched slightly at the sight. No matter how much time had passed since their summoning, Proto’s enjoyment of battle was something to behold.

Kotarou ducked his head, “Hai.” He palmed another kunai and it flashed through the flames and the dark to bury into another eye. The orochi was on the defense now, retreating backwards, trailing blood and limp heads, it’s multiple tails lashing wildly. “Ah . . . how much mana does your noble phantasm cost?”

Proto ginned at him, wide and violent. The firelight caught in his eyes and shone in his blue hair. It lit his cheekbones and the line of his nose and made the shadows dance across his pale skin. He looked, for a moment, every inch the demigod he was. “Not much.” He turned around, pulling Gae Bolg back, a familiar incantation falling from his lips,  **“Pierce them! Gut them! Finish them! Gae Bolg!”** The spear shot from his fingertips as he hurled it, cut through their circle of flames, a red streak in the darkness, and buried itself into the orochi's chest. The creature screamed with all the heads that remained, thrashing widely. Kotarou watched it flail around, it’s extensions growing weaker and weaker before it finally laid still.

Proto laughed, the sound breaking past his lips and ringing in the air. It was a wild sound, loud and carefree, and Kotarou jerked his head away from the creature’s body to watch him. The Lancer had thrown his head back, firelight catching on his jaw and the line of his throat. He spun around, staring down at Kotarou with dancing eyes and a wide grin. “That was awesome!” He reached over, grabbing Kotarou’s hands in his own and bouncing up and down excitedly. “Using rune craft was such a good idea! You’re a genius!”

Kotarou stared at Proto’s hands. They engulfed his, hot against his own skin. Feverish. The ointment should have brought any fever down. But he was a demigod . . . perhaps it was natural? Then Proto’s word connected in his mind. Complements. Again. Kotarou could feel his whole face heat up, “Ah . . . no! I’m not . . . ah . . . I’m not a genius.” He glanced away. “Ah . . . you did all the work.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you!” Proto beamed down at him.

Kotarou made a strangled noise in his throat and flushed harder, ducking his head to hide behind his hair.

For a moment, Proto paused, then he dropped Kotarou’s hands as if he’d been holding a live wire. "Shit!” He yelped, jumping back, red flashing across his cheeks, “I’m sorry!” He looked away, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Kotarou stared at the rocks beneath his feet, the dips and curves and the wet glistening of the stone. The silence hung between them, heavy and strained except for the crackle of flames. Finally, Proto coughed, “Uh, well, do you think that was the last thing or what?”

Kotarou kicked the ground awkwardly. “Ah . . . probably, hai. It would make sense having something this powerful guard the exit. Which means we must be close.” He glanced up through his bangs to stare at Proto. The Lancer wasn’t looking at him, cheeks still dappled red, his hand on the back of his neck. “Ah . . . you didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Proto’s gaze jerked back to Kotarou. “Uh, nope! Nope I’m good. You?”

“Ah . . . uninjured.” And this time it wasn’t a lie. For a while Proto stared at him, and Kotarou shifted under his gaze. Finally, he said, “ah . . . the flames?”

“Oh, yeah.” Proto traced a rune through the air and the flames sizzled out. “Hey Fuuma?” he said, his voice soft, his face still lit by the dying embers, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Kotarou glanced at him. Proto’s eyes glowed dimly in the dark, as if they had their own flames trapped inside. “Ah . . . hai,” he mumbled, looking away. “ . . . You too.”

Kotarou found their lantern a little bit away, lying in a shattered mess, water pooling around the edges. The tide was coming back in, and the saltwater would have ruined the mechanics if the fall hadn’t broken it. Kotarou sighed and picked the pieces up, dropping them into his bag and pulling out his flashlight. He could attempt to fix it later, and if he couldn’t, then he was sure Da Vinci would like to have a go. 

He returned to Proto’s side. The Lancer had his foot braced on the orochi's chest, cursing as he yanked on his spear. For a moment, Kotarou watched him, then turned from the sight and pulled one of his kunai. Gudako wasn’t here, but they still needed to collect supplies. He got to work, prying off scales and pulling out teeth. Proto finished pulling Gae Bolg out of it’s chest, stumbling back with a yelp. “Damn it! I think this blood is acidic.”

Kotarou glanced at him. Proto was staring at his fingers in disgust, Gae Bolg held loosely in his other hand. He whipped his fingers on his shirt, scowling faintly. “Ah . . . really?” Kotarou asked, “That could be useful.” He turned back to the orochi. How acidic was it’s blood? He had a few glass vials in the bag. He held the flashlight between his teeth and pulled them out. They were thick, he’d gotten them from the labs in Chaldea, but were they thick enough to hold acidic blood?

“What, don't you have any acid with you?” Proto squatted beside him, Gae Bolg balanced on his shoulders, wrists looped over it’s shaft. He was grinning, a wide, quizzical grin, head tilted and eyes gleaming. 

Kotarou froze, then reached up to remove the flashlight from his mouth. “Ah . . . hai,” he mumbled, ducking his head. He did have acid, industrial grade acid, he didn’t need this orochi's blood.   
Proto nudged him, “Hey, there still might be a use for it. Can’t hurt to take it.” He stood, stretching, and Kotarou could hear his back pop. “Want some help with that?”

Kotarou glanced at the vials in his hand, then back up at Proto. “Hai . . . that would be nice.”

Proto grinned at him. “Awesome!”

In the end, Kotarou decided not to scout ahead. He didn’t want either of them to get into a fight by themselves, especially since they couldn’t contact each other. And the chances of facing another thing like the creature were slim. He preferred to stay by Proto’s side, footsteps silent with his Presence Concealment up. Proto had taken the flashlight, holding it out in one hand while the other kept Gae Bolg balanced against his shoulder. The flashlight didn’t illuminate much, but the tunnel had narrowed slightly, so it was enough to see by. Beside them, the waters lapped against stone, slowly rising. Beneath their feet, the floor sloped towards that side of the tunnel. It wasn’t enough to throw off Kotarou’s balance, but it was still unsettling, and it made him feel like he was leaning in Proto’s direction. 

“Hey Fuuma,” Proto asked, “do you know where we are? I keep on trying to figure out what went on and who we might be facing, but I,” he coughed awkwardly, “I don’t know where we rayshifted to so . . .”

“Ah . . . hai, if our location hasn’t changed too much.” Kotarou pulled one of his kunai, fingering the blade. He remembered Gudako, she’d been Gudao then, approaching him last night, after he had retreated to his room and before Gudao had begun his horror movie spree. He bit his lip, then spoke. “Ah, according to Gudako, we were supposed to rayshift to Japan.” He straightened slightly, pulling his shoulders back. “I can say we still are in Japan for certain, the mana is the same as I remember. But for the time period . . . I am not sure.” He took a deep breath, then glanced at Proto through his bangs. “We were supposed to rayshift to the Sengoku period, but that might have changed.”

Proto frowned thoughtfully, “That’s your time period, isn’t it?” He said it carefully, as if he was uncertain how Kotarou would act. 

Kotarou hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. “Hai, it is. But . . . ah . . . like I said, I cannot be certain that we are there.” He glanced down at his kunai, playing with the blade. Gudako had given him the option of skipping out on this rayshift, to give his spot to someone else, but in the end, he could not do it. It was simple, really, if things went wrong, then his knowledge of the time would be beneficial.

Kotarou scowled faintly. He hated it when things went wrong.

“Hey, Fuuma.” Proto said, nudging his shoulder. “Your turn to ask a question.”

Kotarou glanced up at him, the scowl falling from his face. A way out, Proto was offering him a way out of the thoughts that tangled in his head. A distraction. He didn’t want to be distracted, but he didn’t want to think on this matter either. The specific year they were in was not a good year. He remembered the things he did during this time like it was yesterday, no matter what he tried to distract himself. But perhaps this could work. 

He slipped his kunai back into his jinburi. “Ah . . . Proto . . . if it’s okay . . . What did you think when you saw Alter for the first time? In America? You . . . ah . . . don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

For a moment, the Lancer was silent. Then he shrugged, his shoulder armor grating with the movement. “No, it’s fine. I was confused, mostly. I didn’t understand how I could become something like him, Grail or no Grail. And I definitely couldn’t understand why he’d be helping Medb. But, seeing him reminded me that my life isn’t all roses and battles.” Proto removed Gae Bolg, spinning it in his fingers, tip scraping against the ground with each spin, sending sparks flying into the air. “CasCu’s fond of saying I’m young and naïve, silly and stupid enough to think that it all works out. But I have my memories from my whole life, I know every pitfall and trap laid out before me.” He paused for a second. “Seeing Alter reminded me that I had a darkness inside, something that could be twisted into him.” He cracked a grin, “Of course, Alter’s actually not a bad guy. Just Alter.” He shrugged as if that explained everything, and perhaps for him, it did.

Kotarou stared at the walls of the cave, chewing his bottom lip. In some ways, his own situation was similar. He too had been summoned in a younger body, and most of his memories came from later in life. But in other ways, he was different. There was no alternate form for him, a possible version of himself that revealed the darkness within. No, Kotarou’s darkness was revealed by his future, and it showed its face every time he closed his eyes. He had no illusions, he knew the type of monster he became. “Ah . . . Proto . . . ah . . . I want you to know that I think you’re a good person.”

A much better person then he was.

Proto made a strangled noise in his throat, “Uh, thanks! You’re not half bad yourself.” He grinned down at Kotarou, for once not bloodthirsty, but soft and warm.

Kotarou averted his gaze from the sight, dipping his head to stare at the ground as heat crawled across his cheeks. He wasn’t, not really. But the grin Proto was sending him made those arguments stick in the back of his throat. So he swallowed them and murmured, “Ah . . . you’re welcome.”

For a moment, Proto was silent, then he spoke again, his voice light and cheerful. The sound of it eased some of the tightness in Kotarou’s shoulders, Proto wasn’t going to pry or press the point, and that was enough for him. “What all do you have in your bag? I mean, I know some of the stuff, but there has to be more.”

Kotarou glanced back up at him, Proto was rubbing the back of his head, his grin gone from warm to awkward, but it was still slightly warm, and the sight made Kotarou want to fidget. Instead, he listed, counting on his fingers. “Ah . . . besides the first aid kit, lantern, and tin of ointment, I have a couple water skins, rations, rope, flint, a survival blanket, back up com links, vials of acid, various potions from the alchemy lab, a sewing kit, a few remaining sticks of dynamite -”

“Wait,” Proto interrupted, “You have a com link? Do you think it will work?”

Kotarou stared at him, “Whomever blocked off our link to Gudako would have made sure to block off any other communication system.”

“Well, yeah,” Proto said, leaning forwards slightly. “But that’s magecraft. We’re talking technology here.”

Kotarou stopped, blinking rapidly. Proto was right, the chances were slim, but better then nothing. How had he not seen it sooner? He reached into his bag, digging around till his fingers hit the familiar smooth surface of the com link. He pulled it out, turning it on. Proto halted as well and leaned over his shoulder. Kotarou could feel his warmth, not entirely unpleasant, and certainly better than the chill air around them. The screen of the communicator flickered to life, and Kotarou sent a message to Gudako. 

Within moments, he had a reply.

Fuuma Kotarou

Gudako, are you alright?

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Kotarou! You’re okay! I got yours and Proto’s messages earlier, but I was unable to reply. I am safe, whatever interrupted our rayshift didn’t separate me from everyone. I have Lion King and Mash with me. I don’t know where Herc and Jack are.

Fuuma Kotarou

It is possible they were directed into an area like Proto and I are in.

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Yeah, I asked Da Vinci and Romani, and they said it was most likely a bounded field that messed everything up. According to Romani, their scans of this Singularity still read as non threatening. 

Fuuma Kotarou

Do they have an idea of what is going on?

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Yes, someone got hold of the Grail, and is ready for us. But I bet you already figured that out. The important part is that we are still the same year we were rayshifting to, it’s just our positions that got shuffled around. Where are you two?

Fuuma Kotarou

Somewhere by the coast, but we won’t know exactly until we find our way out of the cave system.

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Got it. Do you know when you’ll be out?

Fuuma Kotarou

Soon, I think. We still have a ways to go though.

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Make it quick, we can’t stay in one place for long. 

Fuuma Kotarou

Is it bad up there?

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Kotarou, this place is a war zone.

Kotarou looked at those words for a moment. War zone. In certain areas, yes, but there should have also been peaceful places as well. Perhaps Gudako had yet to encounter them. He glanced up at Proto. “Well, you were right. The coms do work.”

Proto made a face at him, nose wrinkled and mouth pursed. He was too close, Kotaoru could see the smudges on his cheek from where he had failed to clean away all the blood from his head wound, the different shades of blue in his hair and how his pupils were dark red instead of black. “Not stellar news though. But at least she’s okay, and not alone.” He leaned over further, reaching out to type into the communicator. Kotarou sucked in a breath as Proto knocked into his shoulder slightly, resisting the urge to move away. 

Fuuma Kotarou

Heya Gudako, glad you're safe. Have any clue who is running the show?

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Hey Proto! And right now, it’s most likely either Oda Nobunga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi or Tokugawa Ieyasu. But things might be different, so who knows?

Fuuma Kotarou

Gotcha. We’ll send a message if we find Herc and Jack. Stay safe!

Fujimaru Ritsuka

You guys do the same.

Proto pulled back, and Kotarou took a hesitant breath, ignoring the cold air as it rushed back in to claim him. “Well, you heard our Master, there’s our three possibilities right there.” He nudged Kotarou lightly, grinning, “do you have a bet on which one it might be?”

Kotarou stared fixedly at the communicator. Contacting Chaldea was out of the question, those communications relied on magecraft, and the bounded field would interfere. But he was still surprised that the communicator had worked, it seemed such a small thing for their mystery opponent to overlook. He lowered his wrist and shook his head. “Those are only the living options,” he said softly, “Although a rogue servant who got their hands on the Grail is also a possibility.” 

“Hmm, you’re right there,” Proto groaned, rocking back on his heels. The light from the flashlight bounced wildly across the tunnel, hitting the walls and dancing on the water. “ I hope Herc and Jack managed to land somewhere together. I don’t like thinking of what they’re capable of alone.”

Kotarou smirked faintly, “And you think them together with no supervision is better?”

For a moment, Proto was silent, then he burst out laughing, the sound ringing off the stones. “No,” he gasped out, “you’re right, it’s really not.” He grinned widely, teeth flashing bright in the dark. “But hey, at least this will be more exciting than a normal farming run! I love fighting Servants, it’s so much fun.” 

Kotarou smiled at the notes of wistfulness and glee in Proto’s voice. He didn’t understand it, but it was nice to hear occasionally, and now, with an unknown enemy and their forces split, Proto’s bloodlust was comforting. It was nice to have someone he could rely on, to have someone he knew he could trust by his side.

They continued on, and slowly, the cave widened. Proto had begun to whistle cheerfully, the sound bouncing off the cave walls, as if a dozen others had joined him. It was . . . nice. Kotarou tilted his head as he listened, and he couldn't stop the small smile that slipped onto his face. It was a cheerful tune, uplifting, and he wondered what song it was from. Did Proto sing? He bit back a laugh. The idea of Proto singing was so different from how the Lancer normally acted, it was hard to imagine. 

He glanced at Proto through his bangs. The Lancer wasn’t looking at him, red eyes fixed forward, flashlight held loosely with the beam trained on the darkness in front of them, Gae Bolg resting in his other hand. His lips were pursed, his cheeks puffed out slightly as he whistled, and Kotarou glanced away, smothering a chuckle. He shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The air was changing, from damp, musky tunnel air to something a bit fresher, carrying the slightest tang of salt. Almost out, and they had faced nothing since the orochi. It couldn’t be easy going from here, an enemy who had planned everything to such detail would not have made it this easy.

Not that the orochi had been easy. 

He stopped, reaching out to snag Proto’s elbow, the metal of his armor warm beneath his fingers. For a moment, the temperature shocked him, but it made sense. Proto was warmer then what was normal, of course his armor would have been warmer than what was expected. “Ah . . . will you stay here please?” He glanced up through his bangs, “I want to scout ahead again.”

Proto’s whistling cut off, and he tapped Gae Bolg against his shoulder. “You think there will be an ambush at the exit?”

“Hai.” Kotarou slipped off the coms and snapped it around Proto’s wrist, doing up the buckle. The Lancer stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth. “Ah . . . just in case Gudako contacts us,” Kotarou explained.

“You plan on going in spirit form?” Proto asked, as if the very idea was horrifying.

Kotarou titled his head, how many times had he seen Proto use his spirit form? Almost never. Perhaps he didn’t like using it? Kotarou didn’t blame him, he didn’t like spirit form either. It was convenient for stealth, but being in that form . . . removed him from the realities of the world around him. Things like terrain and amount of light became less important, which lead to flaws when trying to think of plans. Fighting was hard in that form too, it was simply better to stay real and solid and deal with the potential dangers of getting hit.

“Hai.” He stepped back. “I’ll be back soon.”

Proto stared at him, then nodded once. “You do that, okay?”

Kotarou felt his lip twitch slightly. “Hai.” Then he stepped back once again and shifted into spirit form.

Almost immediately, the world was drained of color, and Proto was shaded in with black and white and everything in between. The brightness of his eyes were gone, the many different strands of blue in his hair turned monochrome. Kotarou turned away and started down the cave. He could see the contours of it now, the smooth walls, the curve of the ceiling, but he couldn’t feel how the floor sloped down towards the salty river. That river expanded as he went on, from taking up a third of the cave to taking up a half, until, finally, water covered the whole floor. If Kotarou had to guess, it probably went past his ankles, but he couldn’t be sure in spirit form. One thing he could be sure of, however, was that there was light, growing in front of him. An opening, how long had it been? Maybe thirty meters since he’d left Proto behind. He continued forwards, certain the water was getting deeper, but unable to tell. Finally, the cave opened up into light, and in spirit form, his eyes adjusted immediately.

It was daytime, the sun high above in a sky scattered with clouds. Cliffs bordered him in each direction. It looked like during low tide there might have been a small beach, but now, during high tide, the waves lapped directly against the rock. He moved forwards, glanced back and up. The cliff face looked sheer, but Kotarou couldn’t give it a proper inspection in this form. However, even if it was sheer, it wouldn’t hold him and Proto back. He turned around again, staring out at the sea. Clouds were building on the horizon, thick and dark. A storm, a big one. And on the waters, floating with the waves but not moving too much, which meant it had to be anchored, was a boat. 

It wasn’t a Sengoku period style boat. Kotarou knew what those boats looked like. He had fought them, burned them, rode on them. This was something different. It reminded him of Drake’s ship in Oceanus, and of Blackbeard’s ship. There was a flag flapping from the mast, a black one. For a moment, the wind seemed to hold it still so Kotarou could get a good look. A skeleton and a man with a flaming sword. And beyond that ship, the outlines of more boats could be seen. 

A pirate ship? What was a pirate ship, no, fleet, doing in Japan during the Senguko period? Kotarou frowned, then glanced around again. When he and Proto exited, they would be spotted, there was no doubt about that. Two ways out, they could go along the cliff and attempt to outrun the ships, or they could climb up the cliffs and hope that the ships didn’t fire. Going back the way they had come and finding another way out was not an option.

Kotarou stepped out of spirit form as soon as he spotted Proto. The world wrapped around him again, the feeling of the ground beneath his feet, sound pounding against his ears, his heartbeat and the rush of the waves in the salty river. The smell of the cave hit him, salt water and slightly musty air. Colors bled back into his vision, the red of Proto’s spear and eyes, the blue of his hair and jacket, the silver and gold of his armor. The Lancer grinned quizzically, “Anything?”

“Hai,” Kotarou bit his lip, “It seems we have a bit of a welcoming party.”

They peered out the cave entrance, and Proto whistled. “Damn, that is a party, isn’t it? You think Servant?”

Kotarou nodded, “Hai, the lead boat is a design from the seventeen hundreds. It would have to be a Servant.” He stared out at the crystal waters . . . that flag looked familiar. Perhaps Drake had shown him a version of it before? The design itched at his mind, but he pushed it away. One problem at a time. He had to focus on how to get out of here first. He glanced back up at the cliff face. “How long do you think it would take us to get up there?”

Proto growled softly, “Too long. I can maybe get a fifth of the way with a jump, but jumping vertically up a cliff is different. We’d have to climb the rest of the way. And by then they would fire.” He glanced at Kotarou, “Have anything in your bag of tricks that we can use?”

Kotarou chewed his lips, considering. “For leaving the cave, hai, but . . .” He trailed off, staring at the cliff.

“Gotcha,” Proto made a face, “Think we could rush the ships?”

“I think that would be a very bad idea.” 

“Damn, they’ve got us like rats in a trap.” Proto tapped Gae Bolg against his shoulder, then dismissed it. “I guess we’ve got to go up the cliff face.”

“Hai.”

“Race you?” Proto grinned, wide and cheerful, as if their chances of success weren’t slim and this was just a game. Kotarou ducked his head and took off, the water barely slowing him down. It splashed against his clothes, plastering them against his skin. He dismissed his jinburi and scarf, feeling the wind press and against his face. Behind him, he heard Proto’s surprised laugh. “Hey! That’s cheating!”

Kotarou almost smiled, then he jumped, his kusarigama shooting out to bury itself in the rock face above. For a moment he flew through the air, then his fingers and toes dug into stone. Kotarou yanked his kusarigama out and put it away quickly, began moving fast as possible, searching for hand and foot holds. A few seconds later, Proto crashed into the cliff behind him, cursing wildly as shattered rock plumed from where his feet and hands had hit stone. Kotarou bit his lip and kept moving, and beside him, Proto did the same, his longer reach allowing him to pull himself up quicker.

“Well look here!” A voice called, low and smooth as it carried through the air. “It seems we have two trying to escape. Men, fire.”

A boom echoed through the air, and rock splintered and cracked above their heads. Kotarou cursed and threw himself to the side, plastering his back against the cliff face as shattered rock and debris fell towards the ocean. Proto had done the same, teeth bared angrily. Above them, the smooth curve of the cannonball could just be seen, mostly buried in the cliff face. 

“Oh, my bad.” The voice called again, “That was a little close for a warning shot, wasn’t it? Well, you know the deal, the next one won’t miss. Climb down carefully, and my men will pick you up. I’m quite curious to see the two who managed to survive what was put in that cave system. I saw the plans, they were quite extensive.”

Kotaou glanced at Proto and Proto glanced back. In the daylight, he looked different. The light struck the lighter strands of his hair and made them glow, hit his eyes so they burned bright.  _ “Do you hear me?”  _ Kotarou tried, and Proto nodded sharply. Which meant communications with Gudako were probably back up. He did feel like he was receiving more mana now.  _ “I don’t think we have a choice.” _

Proto titled his head,  _ “We could wait till the boat that’s picking up gets here and hijack it.” _

_ “Only for us to be shot down.”  _ Kotarou pointed out and Proto wrinkled his nose in reply.  _ “The captain doesn’t seem to want us dead, so we have the chance to escape later.” _

_ “You’re right,”  _ Proto grumbled. He shrugged,  _ “Well nothing for it,”  _ then he pushed himself off the cliff face, dropping down with a splash to the waters below. 

Kotarou watched him, then looked back out at the boats. A smaller one had been lowered down onto the waters, and was now rowing in their direction. He bit his lip, then summoned his scarf. The scarf was probably fine, but in this time period, the jinburi would have been too distinctive. He pushed off, feeling the air press against his body before his feet hit the water. He knelt to take the impact, feeling the splash against his face and the water soak into his clothing. Proto coughed, and when Kotarou glanced at him, the Lancer had his hands in front of his face, shoulders shaking. He lowered them, his bangs plastered to one side of his face, skin glistening under the sunlight. 

Proto grinned lopsidedly, “Shame about the becoming captives thing.” His gaze flicked out to the boat headed in their direction and the people manning it. His expression darkened. “I really like the ocean too.”

Kotarou glanced out at the sea, the horizon marred by the many ships. “Hai,” he murmured, “it is a sight to behold.”

The men who yanked their arms painfully behind their back and wrapped them in ropes from elbow to wrists could have been straight from Oceanus. The same rancid smell, the same worn and tattered clothes, the same battered weapons. The sight made Kotarou want to scream, though he strangled it down. He knew how hard it was to keep people and weapons cared for on the ocean, but that was no excuse for them to not try. Gear needed to be taken care of! Weapons, clothing, it didn’t matter, it had to be taken care off! Pirates were ridiculous, focusing on gold and treasure when they should have been taking food and clothing and other supplies. 

He managed to somehow keep his reprimands in check during the ride to the main boat, even though the sight made his blood boil. He kept his eyes forwards instead, hidden by his hair, locked onto Proto’s face so he didn’t have to see the evidence of lackluster hygiene. It was simple! Bad hygiene led to sickness which led to death. Inexcusable. He gritted his back teeth and set his jaw. Proto glanced at him, and sent a small grin in his direction. Kotarou nodded once, and the Lancer turned back to watching the ocean, color staining his cheeks.

“Captain!” One of the men called, and Proto’s head turned. Kotarou twisted around to watch a man stand up and wave. “We’ve got 'em here for you.” The ship slowed to a halt as the rowers stopped. The man moved over to grab the back of Kotarou’s shirt, hauling him to his feet. Someone else tried to do the same for Proto, but the Lancer shrugged him off, standing up by himself. “You’re up first.” The man growled, “And don’t try anything.”

“Oi!” Proto protested, “We’ve been nothing but compliant so far. And how are we supposed to get up there? Our hands are tied.” 

Kotarou struggled to contain a smile at the venom in his voice. They weren’t angry at the same things, but at least Proto was willing to express that anger. Kotarou could pretend, for a moment, that he too could go off on a tangent. But then he banished that dream. “Ah . . . I guess we jump.” He offered instead, and Proto’s eyes caught his, a grin flashing across his face as understanding hit. Kotarou bent his knees and leapt up, feet hitting the wooden deck of the lead ship hard. A moment later, Proto landed beside him, his wide grin still plastered to his face. From below, there came the sounds of splashing and yells, probably from the small boat as it tipped over. 

Someone laughed, “Well, that’s one way to get up. Men, surround them.” 

Immediately the pirates that had been waiting on deck with swords drawn rushed to surround them, pushing them to their feet, blades pressed against their backs. Kotarou kept his face blank, mostly hidden by his hair. Proto didn’t even try to hide his snarl of annoyance. Footsteps, loud against the wood of the deck, and a Servant’s presence that rung strongly in Kotarou’s mind. He glanced up through his bangs. The Servant, the Captain, was tall, around Proto’s height if Kotarou had to guess. Tan skin, dark hair that faded to white, blue eyes. Well dressed with gaudy jewelry, but Kotarou was more focused on the gun and the saber he wore in plain sight.

“So then,” the man said, his voice just as low and smooth as it had been when he’d yelled, “I wonder, who do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho, I wonder who this person is? Hint, pretty much all the character’s I’ve written about would try to nuke him. (A bit of an overstatement but it’s pretty much true). Also, I don’t think he’s made it to the NA server yet? *shrugs* oh well.  
> And also, Herc and Jack are out living their best lives, just running around, fucking shit up . . . rip to whomever gets in their way, am I right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I can pretty much sum up this chapter as Proto’s terrible, no good, very bad, horrible day. Also, Wikipedia to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! Thank you all for your comments and kudos, they're very much appreciated. Here's to a (hopefully) happy new year! I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a great day!
> 
> Also, kudos to the peeps who guessed the pirate or tried to look him up!

_ The trees that shaded them in this little grove were ancient, and sunlight filtered slowly through the leaves and branches, dappling the undergrowth. Proto stretched, staring out at the group from behind half-closed eyes. Amadeus was talking softly to Mash and Jeanne had been cornered by an eager Marie. Gudako was flanked by Artoria and Diarmuid, while Emiya had been accosted by CasCu. He, to his despair and Emiya’s exasperation, had been summoned as a Caster along with Artoria and Diarmuid.  _

_ It was odd, how both Emiya and Artoria seemed to know almost everyone who’d been summoned to Chaldea so far. The King of Knights had known both Diarmuid, Emiya, and Emiya’s Cu from previous wars. Proto thought the whole thing was hilarious, and had tried to place bets with Mash about how many other heroic spirits the two might have known. Mash . . . hadn’t known what a bet was, so CasCu had taken him up on the offer. _

_ To Emiya’s great annoyance. _

_ Really, anything CasCu did seemed to annoy Emiya. Although Proto was pretty sure it was CasCu’s endless flirting that hammered in the last nail on the coffin. _

_ Proto grinned slightly, tipping his head back to rest against the tree he was leaning against. He gazed up at the canopy, looking for a shape amongst the shadows and branches and leaves. He’d barely seen Fuuma through their trek, although he knew the Assassin had rayshifted with them. Proto understood it was part of his job to be stealthy, but it felt as if Fuuma was hiding from them. As if he was attempting to avoid conversation at all cost unless it was absolutely necessary. _

_ Naturally, Proto had decided to try to spot him. He’d managed a couple times, a shadow where there should have been none, a figure just seen from the corner of his eye, a barely there rush of movement. Every time, Proto had turned that way and sent a grin in the Assassin’s direction. Fuuma’s answer? To become even harder to spot. It was their second night in Orleans, and Proto had only spotted the Assassin twice today. Yesterday, he had managed to find him five times.  _

_ Proto snorted, eyes roving from the branches he was under to the canopy of the other trees. There, balanced on the branch above Gudako’s head, was Fuuma’s small form. A speck of sunlight had fallen onto his red hair and splattered across his shoulders, illuminating the dark ink of his tattoo. He’d stopped trying, but Proto would take it. He grinned and saluted in the Assassin’s direction. Fuuma shifted slightly, and for a moment, Proto thought he caught a flash of red behind his hair, then the Assassin was gone, the tree branch barely shaking with his retreat.  _

_ Proto blinked, his grin falling from his face. Did . . . Fuuma have red eyes? He could have sworn that he’d caught a glimpse of a red eye. Oh well, he would learn eventually. He shook his head and pushed himself from the tree. Emiya looked like he was about to blow a gasket, and really, he should probably save his older self’s life. Even if he did call Proto a brat. _

_ Morning came, and with it a plan. Gudako was different from the girl who’d summoned him in Fuyuki. Harder, perhaps determined would have been a better word. The sight hurt. Proto knew that war changed people, that death changed people, but he didn’t like seeing that change in Gudako’s face. “Fuuma,” she called, her voice carrying only the slightest hint of hesitation. _

_ “Hai.” Fuuma appeared from nowhere, landing in front of her. Proto wrinkled his nose. Damn it. He hadn’t even had the chance to try to spot Fuuma’s location. _

_ “I want you to scout ahead and report back if there are any enemies in our path.” She said it quickly, but Proto could see her eye twitch. She didn’t want Fuuma to go alone. Proto doubted that she didn’t believe in the Assassin’s skills, but they had just lost the Director, and the idea of separating the group was never a comfortable one. _

_ Proto raised his hand, bouncing on his toes. “I could go with him.” He offered, flashing a grin in Fuuma’s direction. “I’ll stay back so I don’t mess up with your scouting, but if anything goes wrong, I’ll be there just in case.” _

_ Gudako hesitated for a moment, “Okay. But only if Fuuma is good with that.” _

_ For a long time the Assassin didn’t reply, and Proto felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Fuuma was staring at him, he hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned in his direction, but somehow Proto knew that he was being stared at. Finally, the Assassin spoke. “Hai.” Then he was off, so fast he wasn’t even a blur. _

_ Proto gave himself enough time to send a grin towards Gudako and the group, then chased after him. A flash of pale skin, the glint of red hair, it was the only thing that marked the path Proto had to follow. Small sightings, half seen glimpses, but it was still more than he’d seen in the past few days. “Oi!” He called, skidding to a halt, kicking up leaves and dirt, “What are you doing?” _

_ Fuuma appeared in front of him, crouching, fingers pressed against the ground, head tilted slightly. “Making sure that you can keep up.” _

_ Proto stared at him incredulously, “You don’t have to make sure I can keep up. I’m just as fast as you, and if you get spotted because you’re trying to make sure that I’m with you, then that’s just shit, you know?” He grinned, “Besides, I can spot you anyway. Part of the time, at least.” _

_ For a few moments Fuuma stayed there, frozen, then he dipped his head, a small smile slipping onto his face. “Hai, you’re right.” He stood, a smooth movement, and once again Proto got a flash of red behind his hair. “I won’t hold back.” _

_ Proto grinned wider at him, something hot lighting in his chest at the words. “Good. I need the challenge.”  _

_ Fuuma was gone before Proto was done speaking, nothing but a few leaves falling back to the ground to signify his presence. Proto laughed, then sped after him, hearing his own heartbeat kick up loud in his ears. A challenge, a chase, and enemies if things went wrong. Things were looking good today. _

“So then, what do we have here?” The Servant asked, tipping his tricorn hat back. His pale blue eyes flashed at them, and Proto restrained a growl. He didn’t like the look in the Servant’s eyes, a particular gleam that reminded Proto almost of Blackbeard. “A Servant and a . . . “ His voice trailed off, and for a few moments he just stood there blinked. Beside him, Fuuma stiffened, and Proto had to bite back the growl that was building in the back of his throat. “This can’t be real,” the Servant said, “I must be dreaming.”

Around the ship, there came what sounded like a collective groan. “Captain Roberts,” someone said, “Please focus.”

The Servant, Roberts, rocked back on his heels, never taking his eyes off Fuuma. “I am focusing.” He said, and Proto tried to shift closer to the Assassin. The pirate behind him prodded his back with her sword and Proto froze. “I am focusing on the lovely lad in front of me.” He plucked his hat off his head and bowed, one arm crossing his chest, the hand holding his hat thrown out to the side. He glanced up at Fuuma through his lashes, his next words practically a purr. “I am Bartholomew Roberts, and it’s my pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone so enchanting.”

“AH?” Fuuma yelped, his face flashing the reddest Proto had ever seen it. 

For a moment, Proto was stunned by the sight, then things clicked into place. This pirate, this Servant, this Barholomew Roberts, had just hit on Fuuma. “Oi!” He burst out, lunging forwards despite the sword at his back to leap in front of the Assassin, “Paws off!”

Bartholomew straightened, placing his hat back on his head. He chuckled, something soft and amused that Proto did not like at all. “Please, I’m a gentleman. I wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want me to do.” He winked, a smirk flitting across his face. “Come now, I’ve given you my name. It’s only fair that you give me yours.”   
Proto gritted his teeth before finally spitting out, “Lancer.”

“Ah . . . Assassin,” Fuuma said softly. 

Bartholomew closed his eyes, “Assassin,” he said slowly, as if he was tasting the word. “Shame you’re only giving me your class, but I’ll take what I can get.” His eyes snapped open and he waved his hand. “Men, stand down. If fact, untie them as well. They’re Servants, a little bit of rope won’t hold them back.” 

Proto heard Fuuma’s bonds snap, and then his own followed. He rubbed his wrists, glaring at Bartholemew. Around them, various crew members went back to their tasks, but a few watched them with hands on sword hilts or the buts of guns. Beneath his feet, the boat rocked. It had been a while since he’d fought on a boat, but he would manage. And Fuuma was with him, this Bartholemew didn’t stand a chance. 

“Care for a drink you two?” Bartholomew asked cheerfully, “What about some food? I am a bit peckish.” His welcoming smile dropped from his face, “and don’t think you can escape. I have eyes everywhere, and you’ll never outrun my guns.”

“What,” Proto shot at him, “this whole fleet your Noble Phantasm?”

“Hai.” Fuuma said softly, stepping up beside Proto. His red hair covered both his eyes, his violent blush still lingering on his cheeks. He stood a bit closer to Proto then normal, his arm brushing Proto’s own. His voice, however, was cold and clipped, professional. “It is. Bartholomew Roberts commanded the largest pirate fleet in naval history, and is considered one of the most successful pirates during the Golden Age of Piracy. It would make sense that his fleet is his Noble Phantasm.”

For a moment, Bartholomew stared at Fuuma, and Proto swore that there was a faint blush on his cheeks. Then he chuckled, placing a hand over the giant gold cross that lay across his chest. “I see my reputation precedes me, Assassin.” Once again he lingered on the word, and this time Proto couldn’t stop the growl that pushed past his lips. Bartholomew glanced at him, and something flashed across the pirates face. “Or perhaps you’ve looked me up?” He sang, “I’m honored.” 

“It’s all information the Throne of Heroes has provided.” Fuuma said. 

Bartholomew pouted, actually pouted. Proto was going to punch him and it was going to be glorious. “Well, I see that you’re going to be a difficult one, aren’t you? Come on.” He turned around, started walking across the deck. “I’ll pour you a drink.”

Proto bared his teeth at his back, flexing his fingers. It would be simple enough to summon Gae Bolg and strike now, and if Bartholomew died, his ships would go with him. But then Fuuma reached out and snagged his arm, shaking his head once.  _ “If we start a fight here, we’ll lose.”  _ He dipped his head in the direction of one of the pirates milling around.  _ “They’re part of his noble phantasm. With Gudako and the rest we could take them, but we’re alone and outnumbered. It’s best to play his game for now.” _

Proto hesitated, then nodded.  _ “Fine, but if he gets on your nerves, just say the word. I’ll gut him for you.” _

Fuuma smiled briefly,  _ “Hai, I will.” _

“Sit down, sit down.” Bartholomew said, dropping into a seat behind his desk and gesturing at Proto and Fuuma, “What brings you two out here? Besides the cave of course.” He flashed a grin, his blue eyes shifting from Proto to Fuuma expectantly. 

So of course, Proto talked first. “Nothing but the cave.” He sat down, tossing his feet onto the pirate’s desk, ignoring all the gizmos and gadgets that decorated the surface. The desk and the three chairs were bolted down, and it made Proto’s skin itch. He couldn’t lean back properly this way. Another mark against the pirate. 

“Hai.” Fuuma said, sitting down in the chair next to Proto. No doubt the Assassin was cataloging every little knick knack in Bartholomew’s quarters. Proto admired him for it, because he certainly wasn’t going to bother. It’d all disappear when they killed him. But it was just another one of those things that made Fuuma Fuuma, and Proto knew that the Assassin had probably figured out a use for everything in this room. Fuuma had his back. That knowledge made Proto feel safe, secure in a way that few others could lay claim to. 

“Oh?” Bartholomew glared at Proto’s feet, then turned his attention back to Fuuma. Proto gritted his teeth. This jerk certainly wasn’t making him feel safe. And if Bartholomew looked at Fuuma with that Blackbeard esq gleam in his eyes one more time, Proto was going to eviscerate him. “You’re telling me you were summoned there?”

Fuuma nodded, his hair shifting. Proto stared at the organized clutter on the pirate’s desk and imagined what would break if he kicked it off. 

Bartholomew sighed, “This will work much better if you are cooperative.” He leaned forwards, placing his cheek on his hand, his pale eyes once again trained on Fuuma’s form. Proto’s fingers itched for Gae Bolg. One strike, he only needed one strike. “So please, tell me how much you know.”

Fuuma reached out and placed a hand on Proto’s knee. Proto froze, feeling the rush of blood through his cheeks, the contact through the fabric and leather of his pants.  _ “He has knowledge that could be useful.”  _ Which meant they couldn’t kill him just yet. Shit. Proto forced his grip to loosen on the halfway formed spear, and Fuuma’s hand dropped from his knee. “Hai,” Fuuma said, his voice cold but still carrying that undeniable crackle that separated it from all others, “We were summoned in the cave system. We know we are in Japan, and that this is the Sengoku period. But beyond that, we are unsure of the circumstances around our arrival. Could you tell us a bit, please?”

Bartholomew, who had been glaring at Proto’s knee when Fuuma’s hand had landed on it, practically preened. “I guess I could tell you a bit, though I would assume you’d know more. You look like someone from the Fuuma clan, but the fact that you are a Servant is undeniable. Only a Servant could have survived the creatures placed in that cave.” He chuckled, low and smooth, “You are truly remarkable.”

“Ah . . .” Fuuma shrunk back in his seat, red crawling across his cheeks.

Proto growled.

Bartholomew laughed, “Don’t be so defensive, little pup, I’m simply saying.” He smiled, and Proto could feel his eye twitching. He balled his hands, imagining the crunch of his gauntlets against this man’s nose. It would be so satisfying. But no, not yet. He had to be patient. He was a hunter, he could be patient. Probably. Bartholomew drew back, standing up to tower over them. “Would you two like some tea?” He asked, eyes gleaming, “I find that it is often . . . calming in these situations.”

_ “I hate him.” _

Fuuma ducked his head, but Proto swore he saw the trace of a smile across the Assassin’s mouth. “Hai. Tea would be nice. Would you like some as well, Lancer?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Bartholomew shrugged, somehow making the movement far more convoluted than it needed to be. “Your loss.” For a few minutes the cabin was filled with the sound of cutlery. The cups were metal and the teabags taken from a box that had been carefully stashed away. Proto watched him carefully, just in case the pirate tried to be clever and slip some poison into the cups, but everything seemed to be in order. Damn it. Proto had been hoping for an excuse to kill him. Finally, the pirate passed Fuuma a cup of tea with a flirtatious smile. Fuuma took it, shrinking back into his seat with a muttered thanks. 

Proto bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile at the offended expression on Bartholomew’s face. This pirate had no clue what he was getting into trying to flirt with Fuuma. The Assassin’s denseness could not be underestimated. Ever. And for once, Proto was glad of it.

Proto leaned back into his seat as best he could. “Yo, Assassin, is the tea good?”

“Hai.” Fuuma said softly, his hangs gripping the mug tightly.

“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Bartholomew purred, “I took it off a chinese trader a couple weeks ago. He put up quite a fight and had quite the bit of loot with him.”

“So you’ve been here for a while then?” Proto asked, nudging one of the metallic contraptions with his boot. It slid across the wood briefly with a loud scraping sound.   
Bartholomew’s eyes snapped from Fuuma to him. “Yes, I have. And don’t kick that, it’s useful.” He took a sip of his tea, then continued. “You two are the first Servant’s I’ve seen in a while. It’s unusual for any who have not aligned themselves with him to survive for long.”

Proto jerked to attention, and Fuuma tilted his head to his side. “Him?” Proto asked, “who is he?”

Bartholomew waved a hand, “Oh, just a guy. Very powerful. He’s helped unite the factions, and some call him the power behind the throne. No one has ever seen his face.” Bartholomew smirked, taking another sip of his tea. “Makes for a pretty interesting story, doesn't it? A power behind the throne that locates the strongest people in the land and either eliminates them or recruits them.”

“And you serve him,” Fuuma said softly, rotating the cup of tea in his hands. “This power behind the throne. He is your lord.”

Bartholomew clicked his teeth. “Now that is not true. We have a trade deal. He allows my ships to go where they please and let’s me plunder who I please. In return, I keep a force guarding the exit to his little play area and take any Servants that I find to him. Of course, that does include you.” He chuckled and raised his cup, “You could kill me right now, but my men lifted anchor as soon as you were below deck. You’re stuck with me for a bit, so let's try to get along.”

Proto jerked to his feet, Gae Bolg falling into his hands. He thrust, his spear a streak of red through the air, only for metal to press cold against his forehead and an ominous click to fill the air. Proto froze, Gae Bolg’s tip dimpling Bartholomew’s dark vest. Bartholomew’s eyes were icy, his gun hand steady. The other held his sword, grip reversed so the tip pressed against Fuuma’s side even as the Assassin’s kunai touched his throat. 

“As fun as this is,” Bartholomew said calmly, “I can assure you that I’m not going down without a fight. And I will take one or both of you down with me. Do you want that?” 

Proto glanced at Fuuma, the Assassin’s face just visible over the pirate’s shoulder. He must have been standing on the back of Bartholomew’s chair. Proto hadn’t even felt him move. Slowly, Fuuma shook his head, drawing back his kunai. Proto groaned and let Gae Bolg dissolve.

“Good choice,” Bartholomew chuckled, tucking both gun and sword away and picking his cup back up. Proto didn’t sit, but Fuuma appeared back in his own seat, his tea back in his hands as if nothing had happened. “Let me tell you how this will go. You two will either join with us, or I will kill you. Or he will. He’ll enjoy it more than I will, trust me.” He smiled, pale eyes flashing with something that was a shade too cold to be mirth. “Well now, would you like to ask anything else before you’re escorted to the brig?”

“Hai.” Fuuma said, setting his cup back onto the desk. “Who is the ruling power?”

Bartholomew smiled at him. “Who am I to deny such a lovely lad the information he seeks? Hōjō Ujinao.” Proto didn’t know the name, although it sounded almost familiar. Fuuma, however, froze. Bartholomew stood, clapping his hands. “Come on, to the brig we go.”

Proto glared at Bartholomew, then reached over and helped Fuuma to his feet. The Assassin took the help without resisting, his normally smooth movements jerky and stiff. Proto couldn’t see his eyes, and Fuuma had dipped his head so his mouth was hidden by his scarf, but Proto could still read the set of his shoulders and the stiffness of his back. 

Fuuma knew that name.

And it meant something to him.

The brig was dark and dank and disgusting. Proto was tossed inside unceremoniously, Fuuma pushed in gentler. Bartholomew stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light, his various bits of jewelry and metal glinting softly. He grinned, “Normally, I would hate to keep someone such as yourself, Assassin, down here, but something tells me that your friend will pitch a fit if I separate you two. So I won’t. I’ll collect you later for dinner.” He straightened, waved, and then the door shut behind him with a loud bang. 

“YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE!” Proto burst out, unable to contain it any longer. He stormed up to the door and gave it a good kick. Unfortunately, it didn’t cave in, and he was left with aching toes for his trouble. He growled. ‘I hate him so much.”

Fuuma chuckled softly, the sound crackling in the air. There was a click and a narrow beam of light illuminated the opposite side of the room. “He is not the worst we have faced,” he said, “but hai, his noble phantasm will be a bit troublesome.” He held out the flashlight and Proto wandered over to take it from him. “We’re lucky he didn’t take the coms.”

Proto trained the light on his wrist. The coms did look like his armor in a way, shiny and silver, blending in with the metal. He reached over and unbuckled it. “Might as well hide it for now, I don’t want him to know about it.” He held it out, and Fuuma took it from his fingers, tucking it away. Proto let the light pan over the blank wooden walls of the small room. Empty except for the smooth walls of the boat. Worse, it stunk of rat piss and spoiled meat. “Please tell me you have a plan to get out of here.”

“Ah . . . I think so.” Fuuma ducked his head, “But . . . ah . . . we’ll have to wait a little bit. I have no clue how close to shore we are.”

“We are Servants, we could probably make it.”

“And if something’s in the water waiting for us?”

There was a beat of silence, then Proto groaned loudly. “Fuck, you’re right.” He chose a spot at random and sat, leaning back against the wall. There was a slight shuffling sound as Fuuma sat. Proto trained the flashlight on him. He looked unnatural like that, harsh shadows cast by his hair and scarf, the rest of his skin lit ghost white, his red hair painfully bright. A creature spun from darkness and light, trapped between two worlds. Proto swallowed hard, then forced himself to look away.  _ “We should contact Gudako.” _

_ “Hai.”  _ Now, without Bartholomew to distract him, Proto could focus on the way Fuuma sounded when they spoke mind to mind. The crackle was more pronounced, stronger and surer, like fire given voice. For a few moments, they waited in silence, then Fuuma sent,  _ “Ah . . . Gudako, can you hear me?” _

The reply was immediate.  _ “Kotarou! You’re out! Is Proto with you?” _

Proto grinned at the sound of her voice. By Lugh it was good to hear it.  _ “Yeah, I’m with him. Haven’t run into Herc or Jack though. But we have come across an asshole and some interesting information.” _

_ “Well then, fill me in.” _

Fuuma tilted his head and Proto nodded at him. Once again, the Assassin’s voice filled his mind.  _ “We have been taken captive by the pirate Bartholomew Roberts. His noble phantasm is the fleet that he had in life. I’m sure that we will be able to escape, I’m just not sure how long it will take. He has, however, given us some vital information. Most of the Servants are working for a man who is the power behind the throne. He locates rogue Servants and either hires them or destroys them. And the man on the throne is . . .”  _ Fuuma took a deep breath, then let it out. Proto watched him carefully, resisting the urge to move over and rub his shoulders. He fisted his fingers in his lap instead.  _ “The man on the throne is Hōjō Ujinao.” _

There was a brief pause, then Gudako said,  _ “I don’t know his name, but I know he wasn’t one of the major players.” _

_ “Hai, by this time the Hōjō faction should have been destroyed.”  _ Fuuma said it coldly, his shoulders stiff, his mouth a grim slash. Proto hated to see that expression on him, one of buried pain. He gave in, moving over so he could sit beside the Assassin. Nothing else, but hopefully it would help. Fuuma glanced at him, then continued.  _ “Either he, or the man whose controlling him has the Grail.” _

For a long moment, Gudako was silent, then her voice filled their minds once again.  _ “Thank you for the information, Kotarou.”  _ There came a sound like a sigh, rustling through Proto’s mind like static.  _ “My turn for an update. I have managed to get into contact with Herc and Jack. They landed in an area similar to yours, but managed to escape relatively unscathed. It sounds like this power behind the throne managed to create these areas to trap Servants in. Which means that whomever is that power probably has the grail.” _

_ "Hai.”  _ Fuuma ducked his head slightly, and Proto bumped his shoulder with his arm. He glanced up, his mostly hidden eyes shining bright in the dark. Proto sent him a small grin, and some of the tension in Fuuma’s shoulders eased. Good.

_ “I’m curious as to whether this power is a human or a Servant.”  _ Proto sent, stretching out his legs.  _ “If he has the grail, he could be either.” _

_ “Are we positive they’re a he?” _

_ “Hai,”  _ Fuuma ducked his head again,  _ “Roberts was positive about that. He’s met him.”  _

Proto scowled,  _ “I thought that asshole said he didn’t know who he was. That no one had seen his face.” _

Fuuma shrugged,  _ “He might not know the name, and he might not have seen the face. Or he could have been lying.” _

_ “Okay you two,”  _ Gudako said,  _ “I think I’ve got our plan of action. You two need to escape Roberts as soon as possible and head back to the mainland to find me. But any other information you can gather while you’re there could be useful, so keep your ears open. Mash, the Lion King, and I are going to head out and meet up with Herc and Jack. I’ll contact you guys afterwards or if something comes up. Stay safe you two.” _

_ “Hai.” _

_ “Yes ma’am.” _

For a while, they fell silent, with only the sound of water against wood to fill their ears. The flashlight hung limply between Proto’s fingers, casting a circle of light on the floor before them. Fuuma was by his side, not close enough to touch, but still close enough that Proto had to fight the urge to sway closer. The Assassin had drawn one of his kunai, playing with the blade, the sharp edged catching the light and glimmering in the dark. Proto swallowed, then nudged Fuuma’s side. “Hey, are you okay? It’s just . . . you look like you’d seen a ghost back there, when Bartholomew said that name.”

Fuuma froze, then he ducked his head, hair obscuring his face, shoulders slumping. “I . . . ah . . .” He sighed, his voice very soft. “Hōjō Ujinao was the lord I served under when I was alive.”

Oh. Proto swallowed hard, then shifted over so his side pressed against Fuuma’s. The Assassin stiffened, but didn’t move away. Proto tilted his head back against the wall, staring at the wooden planks of the ceiling, rolling the flashlight in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He said finally, not sure what else he could say.

Fuuma took a deep breath, “Ah . . . it’s not your fault. I just . . . I don’t understand how he could be ruling now. The siege . . .” He fell silent, biting his lip. Proto waited patiently, and finally, Fuuma sighed, “It . . . ah . . . makes sense if he has the Holy Grail. I just . . .” he sighed and looked up, his eyes gleaming bright through his hair. His voice came stronger, certain, with that ever present crackle running through it louder. “I will not falter.”

Proto stared at him for a few seconds, then grinned. “I know you won’t. Gudako’s our lord now, ain’t she? We’ll serve her to the end.” Fuuma stared at him, and Proto returned to watching the ceiling. “Trust me Fuuma, I know all about twisted loyalties.”

Fuuma made a soft sound, something that might have been a sigh. “Hai . . . I suppose you do.” He fell silent again, and this time Proto didn’t break it. They just sat there with the ship rocking underneath them and the wall sturdy behind them. It was almost nice, and if the brig hadn’t smelled disgusting and they hadn’t been prisoners, Proto might have considered taking a nap. Instead, he just rested his eyes, content to feel Fuuma’s arm pressed against his own. 

Something moved, and then something, many somethings, clattered against the ground. Proto yelped, eyes flying open, arms wind milling as he fell hard against the floor. In front of him, no longer pressed against his side, was Fuuma. Had he been sleeping? More importantly, had he been leaning against Fuuma? Shit, he had been, hadn’t he? And Fuuma had let him. By Lugh . . . he groaned and hid his face in his hands, feeling the heat of his blush against his palms. What a mess.

_ “Ah . . . I have a plan.”  _ Proto jerked his head out of his hands, staring wide eyed at the Assassin. Half of Fuuma’s hair stuck up around his face, mussed and tangled, and Proto had a wild thought that maybe, just maybe, Fuuma had been asleep too. The Assassin was crouched over the spilled contents of his bag, flashlight held between his teeth, his fingers gripping a couple of vials that glinted darkly, the liquid within barely seen.  _ “This is morphine,”  _ Fuuma sent,  _ “It’s a sedative. If we kill Roberts, his Noble Phantasm will disappear and we’ll be dropped into the middle of the ocean. But if we drug him and his crew -” _

Understanding hit.  _ “Then we’ll be able to escape!”  _ Proto pushed himself up and lunged forwards, grabbing Fuuma’s hands and the vials he held, grinning widely.  _ “We can use one of the rowboats as well!” _

Fuuma nodded, hair shifting to reveal one red eye.  _ “Hai! He’s collecting us for dinner, so he has to be eating. But his crew is a different question. That’s something we’ll learn tonight.”  _ He growled slightly, and the hair’s on Proto’s arms raised at the sight. Dangerous, by Lugh didn’t Proto know it, but gosh if that snarl wasn’t attractive. 

Proto swallowed hard and dropped Fuuma’s hands, blood rushing to his cheeks once again. He licked his lips nervously,  _ “How much of that stuff do you have?” _

Fuuma began searching through his stuff, pulling out vial after vial.  _ “Some of these aren’t morphine, but other pain suppressors and sedatives. This,”  _ He pulled out a different vial, one with an elaborately carved top,  _ “is some of Serenity's potion, but I don’t think we’ll need it just yet.”  _ He started packing away things again, and Proto watched in awe as he shoved the sheer amount of gear he carried back into the bag. He bit back a laugh, no wonder Fuuma and Da Vinci got along so well, the Assassin’s habits were perfect for testing out the capabilities of the Caster’s inventions. 

_ “When do we want to do this?”  _ He asked, rubbing the back of his head. 

Fuuma ducked his head, nibbling his lip before replying.  _ “Ah . . . tomorrow. I want to get a little bit more information out of Roberts if possible. And I need to know if Roberts eats from the same food source as his men.”  _

Proto wrinkled his nose,  _ “Fine. Shame we can’t just kill him yet.” _

Fuuma made a sound that might have been a snort before packing up his vials and putting his bag away. “I thought you were a hunter,” he said aloud, “aren’t hunters supposed to be patient?” He glanced up at Proto, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Proto sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “For you, Fuuma, I’ll be as patient as I need to be.” He clapped his hands over his mouth as soon as the words hit the air. Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say that at all. Stupid brain and stupid runaway mouth and -

Fuuma ducked his head, but there the blush that stained his skin could still be seen through his bangs. “Ah . . . good. I think we’ll both need some.” He pushed himself to his feet, stretching slightly, and Proto watched him open mouthed, painful heat still stinging his cheeks. Of course. Of course the meaning of his words had flown right over Fuuma’s head. Proto didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Fuuma caught his eye and tilted his head. “Do you think dinner will be ready soon?”

Yes, dinner. Dinner with Bartholomew. Dinner with the asshole Bartholomew. He had to focus. Proto pushed himself to his feet and rolled his shoulders, then his neck. He flexed his fingers, imagining the press of Gae Bolg against his hand. He ached to summon it and give it a good spin, if only to calm his nerves. “I don’t think I want to know. Pirate fare is not the best.” He wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue in disgust.

Fuuma nodded. “Hai. And if worse comes to worse, I do have some rations with me.” 

Proto did his best not to make a face. He remembered those rations. They had knocked Bedivere out. Bedivere. Who ate random shit for fun. Then a thought appeared, and Proto couldn’t stop a grin from splitting his face, “You should offer one to Bartholomew, his face would be priceless.”

Fuuma hesitated, then tilted his head to the side. “He might refuse.”

Proto snorted and shook his head. “Nah. He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t refuse what?” The door creaked open, light spilled into the room once again. 

Proto caught a shift of movement as Fuuma tucked the flashlight away. He turned to stare up at Bartholomew, baring his teeth at the pirate. “Nothing.”

Bartholomew smirked at him. “Well then, Lancer, Assassin, I hope you're hungry. It’s time for dinner.”

“Oh,” Proto tossed at him, “I’m absolutely starving.” For a battle. Fuuma stepped up beside him silently and nudged his arm. Proto bit back a groan of despair. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit more, then they would be gone.

Bartholomew sent a glare Proto’s way and a smile Fuuma’s way. He turned to the side, swinging out one arm in a parody of chivalry. Proto stomped forwards and shoved Bartholomew out of the way so Fuuma wouldn’t have to slip by him. 

Time for round two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fuuma clan’s rations being horrible are going to be a running joke from now on, you’re welcome.
> 
> Also, FGO Carnival Phantasm had Fuuma and Proto on the same screen together, and yes it was for like, three seconds and Proto died almost immediately, but I am living!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback, Kotarou crits, plans, a talk between two chaotic evil peeps, soft boys soft boys, I lied, there is angst, angst will be coming, soft boys again, card games and conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Peeps! We're half way there! Maybe . . . this might take more then 12 chapters . . . i dunno . . . ANYWAY thank you all for your comments and kudos! You are the best! Hope you enjoy this chapter, have a good day, and stay safe!

_Kotarou was not used to being watched. He lived in the shadows, separated from everyone around him. He was the one who watched people. In life he had watched the interactions between his clan, had watched his lord and his interactions with his people, and now he watched Gudako and her Servants._

_He noticed that Gudako was not the same every day. Sometimes she would finger her skirt in distaste, wince when someone called her miss or girl or lady. It did not happen every day, but it was often enough that it wasn’t a fluke. He noticed that Mash was not used to the real world, or interactions with others. She stared at their surroundings with more awe than was normal, watched the conversations that flowed between Servants with wide eyes. Jeanne was uncertain, hesitant at times, while Marie’s cheer ran deeper than the surface, even though there was something else beyond the cheer and determination. Amadeos cared for his friend deeply, but still held her at a distance. Diarmuid flinched whenever a woman looked at him, hand moving automatically to cover his cheek. Artoria was stiff and formal with everyone, only relaxing the slightest bit around Diarmuid and Emiya. Emiya also carried that blank face, only breaking into anger whenever CasCu needled him, but there had been a darkness in his eyes when they had fought the French soldiers. CasCu wore a mask, laughing and joking and flirting, shoulders a touch too stiff and fingers flexing as if to grab his staff._

_And Proto . . . Proto was different. His laughter, his joking, it ran true, at least as far as Kotarou could tell. He was . . . simple, although that wasn’t the best way Kotarou could say it. Proto wasn’t stupid. Truthful was perhaps a better word. What Kotarou saw was what Kotarou got, there was no deception to him, no hidden layers. Not as Proto was now, at least. CasCu had hidden layers, but as his younger self, Proto was uncomplicated._

_Kotarou pulled out a kunai and played with it, flipping the blade over and over in his hands. He sat nestled in the shadows of a large tree, bark pressing against his arms and back. Yesterday still replayed in his mind, Proto’s bright red gaze, his delighted grin. He’d managed to keep up, even though Kotarou hadn’t held back. It was because the Lancer had been watching him as well. Kotarou had noticed that, the feeling of eyes trained on his back. He didn’t like being watched, didn’t like being seen, especially not in situations like this. So he had disappeared, over and over again. And Proto had begun to treat it as a game._

_Kotarou glanced down at the camp, to where the blue haired Lancer was scanning the trees. He pulled back into his bubble of shadow, fingering his blade. No, he didn’t like being watched, but there was something reassuring in the fact that there was at least one person who could find him. That way, if things went wrong, Kotarou could count on someone knowing where he was, so that his disappearance would not cause a panic._

_He glanced down again, and Proto’s gaze met his. The Lancer’s eyes widened, then he grinned, sending a two fingered salute in Kotarou’s direction. Kotarou shook his head slightly and pushed to his feet, trading his hiding spot for another._

Kotarou stayed close to Proto, making sure to keep the Lancer between him and Bartholomew. There was something about the pirate he didn’t like and he knew Proto felt the same. They had encountered a lot of enemies since Fuyuki, but Kotarou had rarely seen Proto angry. Lev, in Rome had been such a time, but they’d all been angry then, angry and hurting. This was different, Proto was angry, but not that type of livid. Dislike of the pirate was understandable, but Bartholomew had done nothing to warrant this level of anger.

“I hope you enjoy the food I have set out for you.” Bartholomew said, waving his hands around as he spoke. He turned his head and sent a grin in their direction, and beside Kotarou, Proto bristled. “You’ll have to tell me how it is.”

“What,” Proto shot back, “you don’t eat yourself?”

Bartholomew smirked. “I have known to fancy a morsel or too,” he purred, eyes flicking from Proto to Kotarou. 

Kotarou fought back the urge to disappear into spirit form and kept his eyes focused on the deck around him. It had surprised him to see Bartholomew had built a place to hold prisoners, but it made sense. No one wanted prisoners running amuck around the place. And the two other rooms that had been constructed were probably for food and animations. Kotarou could grudgingly respect the fact that Bartholomew had seen the need to separate the two from the elements and the stress of battle. One stray spark into the gunpowder would be too dangerous to risk. But beyond those three rooms, the lower deck was open. Cannons lined the sides with stacks of cannonballs by their bases, and pallets were pushed against the walls of the ship so the middle was clear. 

And then there was the crew.

The crew of Bartholomew’s ship moved like a well oiled machine, lacking the arguments that had occasionally echoed across Drake’s vessel. There were a few conversations, a couple of eyes that trailed their path as Bartholomew led him and Proto up onto the deck, but not as many as there should have been. It was just enough to separate them from soulless husks, but not enough to convince Kotarou they were real either. They could have been accustomed to the sight, but still . . . perhaps it was simply the difference between a noble phantasm and real men. The real question was did they eat? The food stores could be useless, just remnants of what Bartholomew had had on board when his death came knocking, and if they were useless, then Kotarou would have to find another way to spread the morphine. And if they were in use, would it be more efficient to poison the stores or the food when it was being cooked? Hmm, the food stores. Adding the morphine while meals were being cooked was too dangerous. Contaminating the food stores might spread the morphine out a bit, but Kotarou was certain that he had packed enough to get the job done.

And poisoning the food stores would mean the effects would last multiple days, not just one.

“Do you see something you like, Assassin?” Bartholomew’s voice, low and playful, lingering on Kotarou’s class in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. 

Beside him, Proto bristled, his teeth bared, his eyes practically glowing. Anger again, written in the line of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists. 

“Ah . . . hai.” Kotarou ducked his head, nudging Proto slightly with his elbow. Anger was fine, relieving to see in some ways, but starting a fight would be a bad idea. He tilted his head at a group of pirates cleaning a cannon. “Your crew works very smoothly.”

Bartholomew beamed, eyes gleaming with something that looked a lot like triumph. “I’m so glad you think so.” He sent a smirk in Proto’s direction, and the Lancer growled. Bartholomew’s smirk widened, “If I may be frank, it has always been my dream to have someone from the Fuuma clan join my crew. Your skills are legendary, and certainly no other can compare.” He winked, “I hope I can convince you to sign up.”

“Oi!” Proto snapped. “We ain’t decided anything yet.”

Bartholomew laughed, “So you make decisions for the both of you, then?”

Proto stuttered, “What, no. I - Fu - Assassin is perfectly capable of making his own decisions and I - er . . .” He coughed and looked down, shoulders hunched, brows furrowed, a half-frown half-scowl on his face.

Psychological warfare. Once again, Kotarou’s respect for Bartholomew moved reluctantly up. But this was Proto, and Kotarou refused to have the Lancer doubting his decisions. “Ah . . . you are fine, Lancer. I do not mind.” He trained his gaze on Bartholomew, “Lancer is right. We have not decided anything yet. Besides, your crew may work together smoothly, but their hygiene is lacking. And bad hygiene leads to sickness, which leads to death. I understand that it is hard to keep good hygiene out on the sea, but that is no excuse. I would be foolish to join the crew of a ship like this.”

For a moment, everything froze, painful silence filling the deck. Bartholomew jerked to a stop, his jaw opening slightly. Various crew members had stopped as well, gaping and staring at him wide eyed. Proto too was staring at him too, his ruby eyes amazed, his lips slightly parted, surprise and blooming delight brightening his face. Kotarou fought the urge to fidget, to retreat to the safety of the shadows, and instead stood straight backed, chin up. He would not back down from this. 

Slowly, Proto began to grin, then chuckle, the sound warm and rich and free from the anger and the worry that had been plaguing him. Kotarou bit back a smile at the sound, keeping his eyes focused on Bartholomew. That was where the danger lied. Bartholomew shook his head, “I should kill you for insulting not only me, but my skills and my crew. However, you’re clever and pretty and you still might join our cause, so you get to live another day.” He started forwards again, his footsteps echoing hard off the wooden boards, his shoulders a tad stiffer then they had been previously.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Proto sent softly, as they began walking again, _“I didn’t mean to impose.”_

Kotarou shook his head. _“Ah . . . no . . . you were right. I . . . ah . . . I don’t mind when you speak for me. It . . . saves me the trouble.”_

Proto made a strangled sound, and when Kotarou glanced at him, the Lancer was looking studiously away from him, his whole face dappled with red and pink. Kotarou blinked. Proto’s ears were red. It was almost funny, although Kotarou didn’t know what he’d done to warrant such a reaction. 

_“I’m glad,”_ Proto thought back finally, _“I’m glad that you don’t mind.”_

Kotarou shrugged softly, _“Ah . . . you . . . know me . . . I think. Better than most. You’ve . . . ah . . . certainly watched me enough times to know how I think about certain situations. I trust you to speak for me. So . . . thank you.”_

Proto squeaked, a tiny sound, mortified sound. _“Of course.”_

The sun was setting, turning the sky molten gold and orange, darkening to red to purple to blue then black. Stars studded the sky, some visible and bright, others only faint suggestions of what would appear later. The water was turned dark as ink, waves capped with gold, and in the distance, Kotarou could see a smudge that must have been Japan. Not too far then, Bartholomew had made sure to keep the island in sight. That meant they could reach shore by rowboat. They just had to do it before everyone woke up. 

Kotarou turned his gaze to the deck. Luck was with them, or at least him, there was a long line of pirates winding towards a bent man over a pot that steamed gently. They did have to eat, or at least preferred to eat. Kotarou didn’t care which possibility was the real reason, either worked just as well as the other. 

“Don’t worry,” Bartholomew said cheerfully, his dislike of Kotarou’s previous words hidden, “We won’t be feasting on that fare. I have something special for us.” He smiled thinly, his blue eyes gleaming from beneath his hats shadow.

“What,” Proto shot, “you don’t feast with your men? Such an inspiring leader.”

Kotarou glanced at Proto through his bangs. His brows were narrowed, eyes were focused on Bartholomew’s back, blazing bright with the setting sun. Light painted his pale skin with gold, settling in his hair and glinting off his earrings and armor, as if the setting sun’s beams were drawn to his form. Ireland’s child of light indeed. Always hungering for battle, trying to start a fight. But the question he was asking was an important one.

Bartholomew waved a hand lazily, “Normally I do. But when I have guests such as this one,” he sent a smile Kotarou’s way, “I have something special prepared.”

Kotarou stepped back slightly so Proto was a few steps ahead of him. It wasn’t much, but it helped.

“Drugged I bet,” Proto snorted. 

“Please,” Bartholomew said, his voice cold, “I’m a gentleman. I would never do such a despicable thing.” 

They fell silent until they reached the door to Bartholomew’s cabin. The pirate swung it open, bowing at the waist, eyes glinting slightly. Proto pushed past him, and Kotarou slipped by, ignoring the way Bartholomew's eyes seemed to linger on him. He wanted to pull out a kunai and fidget. He wanted to disappear, to slink back to the safety of the shadows where no one but Proto would be able to find him. Instead, he glanced around Bartholomew’s cabin once again. 

Unlike the deck below, Bartholomew actually had a bed, built into the side of the boat, big enough for two people if they squeezed beside each other. His desk had been cleaned off, the gadgets and trinkets put away somewhere else, covered with a tablecloth that had three plates and three sets of utensils gleaming softly in the lantern light. Real silver too, if Kotarou had to guess. The clutter on the walls, the decorations, the maps, the weaponry, had all been straightened and adjusted and cleaned up. It made Kotarou’s fingers itch. The weapons on the walls were no doubt decorative, horribly balanced and made of metal soft as butter, but he still wanted to look. Or to pick them up. Or to take them for his collection in Chaldea. He didn’t though, didn’t even glance in their direction. 

He didn’t want Bartholomew to know his weakness for weapons.

Kotarou sat down in his seat, folding his hands in front of him. Beside him, Proto collapsed into his own chair, scowling faintly at the pirate. Another scowl, how many did that make? Over ten. That was too many. Kotarou wanted Proto’s grin back, he was getting tired of seeing anger and annoyance written on the Lancer’s face. 

“Ah . . . what should we expect as a meal?” He asked softly, watching Bartholomew as he moved around to sit in his own seat. 

The pirate preened at the question. “Something I’ve picked up recently on one of my many successes. I think you’ll enjoy it, but telling you would ruin the surprise. Now, would you like some tea? You did seem to enjoy the earlier brew.”

“Hai,” Kotarou murmured as Proto grumbled something that sounded like ‘I guess.’ Tea. Bartholomew was drinking tea. Tea required water. Bartholomew worked for Hōjō Ujinao’s mysterious power, and was supposed to have a force guarding the cave. He had to stay close to his force, they were part of his noble phantasm, there had to be a limit to how far he could travel. Which meant that unlike many pirates, Bartholomew Roberts currently had constant access or a semi constant access to fresh water. There would be water on board. And unlike most who sailed the seas, Bartholomew Roberts did not tolerate drinking unless it was special circumstances. 

Which meant that the pirates on board would have to drink water.

He didn’t have to contaminate their food. He didn’t have to worry about where Bartholomew kept his own tidbits. He just had to contaminate the water supply. 

Kotarou tipped his head so his mouth was covered by his scarf, and smiled.

Dinner was an interesting affair. The food was good, nostalgic in a way. It had been a while since he’d had a meal from the Senguko period. He’d . . . missed the food, although the food in Chaldea was much better prepared then the meals he’d had in life. Bartholomew rambled, telling grandiose tales while Proto snorted and growled and dug into his meal with the focus of someone trying very hard not to punch someone else. Kotarou ate, but he ate slowly, despite the fact he missed this type of food. He kept his attention on Proto, but the Lancer kept a lid on his anger, keeping his outbursts to snide remarks and sounds of disagreement. With each interruption, Bartholomew’s eyes and mouth twitched. 

It was almost amusing to watch the two go at it.

After dinner, Bartholomew escorted them back to the brig. The sky above was clear and dark, studded with a tapestry of stars. Kotarou itched to look up and get a good view, but he didn’t. He counted the people awake instead. There were surprisingly little, around twenty, perhaps more that he hadn’t encountered. The reason became obvious below deck, people were sleeping. Bartholomew’s Noble Phantasm’s crew seemed to have all the habits of real humans. That would make his work tonight much easier. 

Bartholomew opened the door, eyes gleaming. “Lancer, I do so hope you enjoy your night.” There was an edge to his voice that disappeared with his next words. “Assassin, I hope you do as well. And if the brig isn’t to your expectations, call me. I’m sure we can arrange something.” He winked.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you could.” Proto snarled at him, red eyes flashing as he stomped into the brig.

Kotarou followed him, bowing once in Bartholomew’s direction. “Ah . . . thank you for the meal.”

Bartholomew smiled, “You’re very welcome.”

Kotarou stepped into the dark room, and the door shut behind them. Kotarou waited until he heard Bartholomew’s footsteps disappear, then pulled out his flashlight, flicking the beam on. It cut a swath through the darkness, illuminating Proto’s form as the Lancer dropped against the wall and slid to the floor. “By Lugh,” he grumbled, “that man left me with the worst headache.” He rubbed his temples, then dismissed his armor, back into his clothes from this morning. Had it been this morning? How long had they spent in the cave? He didn’t know, he should ask Gudako. If it had been longer than a day - Proto wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

Kotarou’s thoughts stalled to a halt. Proto wasn’t wearing a shirt. Proto wasn’t wearing a shirt and Kotarou could see his wolf pendant shining silver against his skin. Proto wasn’t wearing a shirt because Kotarou had put it away when the Lancer had finished wrapping his ribs. Kotarou squeaked and looked away, feeling the heat rush to his face. “Ah . . . my apologies. I never . . . ah . . .” He bit his lip, then stuck the flashlight in his mouth, gripping it between his teeth as he dug around in his bag for Proto’s shirt.

Proto glanced up, “Wha - oh shit!” In a second, he was back in his armor, face flaming. “No you’re fine! I forgot! I wasn’t thinking! Shit!” 

Kotarou stared at him for a second, then tossed him his shirt. He sat down against the opposite wall, removing the flashlight and rolling it between his fingers. “No . . . ah . . . you’re fine . . .” He trailed off, staring at the floor. 

Proto made a sound that was half-growl half-sigh. Kotarou glanced at him through his bangs. The Lancer had dismissed his armor again, dragging his shirt over head. He had scars. Bite marks by the look of it, faded silver scratches lining his side. But besides those, his skin was remarkably unblemished for a warrior. Then the shirt covered the sight, and Kotarou blinked, shaking his head slightly. Proto was pulling his hair out of the collar of his shirt with a disgruntled face. “I don’t think that asshole is going to pull anything tonight. What about you?”

Kotarou forced his gaze on the flashlight in his fingers. He could still feel the burn in his cheeks, distracting. He refused. There were other things that needed to be focused on. “He won’t,” he said softly, “he’s trying to get onto our good side.”

“Your good side, you mean.” 

Kotarou looked up again. There’d been something dark in the Lancer’s tone, bitter and angry. In the darkness, his face and arms stood out too pale, his eyes almost glowing. “No . . . I . . . ah . . . I don’t know.” 

Proto snorted and stretched out, wiggling his toes. Kotarou blinked again, he’d forgotten that Proto hadn’t been wearing any shoes before the rayshift. It was just another thing that had been lost among the confusion. _“Do you have a plan to spread the poison?”_

 _“Hai.”_ Although it wasn’t poison. Technically it was medicine. _“Water supply. And possibly any alcohol I can find on board as well.”_ He pushed himself up, fiddling with the flashlight before walking over and pressing it against Proto’s palms. _“Here.”_

Proto stared down at it, then looked up. His eyes were warm, his voice earnest, his skin still tinged pink. _“Good luck.”_

Kotarou ducked his head, hiding a smile. _“Mine is better than yours.”_

Proto laughed, a soft, short chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless. The sound of it faded away, and this time Proto’s voice was serious when he sent, _“Be careful.”_

_“Hai.”_

Kotarou stepped back into spirit form. The shadows disappeared, contours of the room revealed, painted in shades of grey. He ghosted out of the room, back onto the lower deck, watching the crew carefully. Most of them were sleeping, but a few were awake, playing card games or talking amongst themselves. Kotarou turned from them and stepped into the first room beside the brig. This was where the food was stored, barrels and crates stacked together with barely any space to squeeze into. Kotarou found a corner that was shadowy enough to hide him and stepped back into solid form. Darkness bloomed across his vision, the contours of the room disappeared. He crouched, fingers pressed against the floor, feeling the boat rock beneath him, his Presence Concealment up. 

For a long time, he crouched there, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Finally, he could make out the difference in the crates, the smooth curve of the barrels. He headed towards one, pulling out two vials of morphine and a bottle of super glue. He set them on a crate and pulled out a kunai, cutting out an opening in the top of the barrel, popping out that piece and setting it aside. It only took two hundred milligrams of morphine to kill a person, so vial per barrel should be enough. He opened the first vial, poured it in, set it aside, then glued the piece of wood back into place. 

Perfect. 

On to the next. 

Kotarou was on the upper deck when Bartholomew found him. The pirate had a monocle fit over his eye, the glass flashing brightly. No, not glass. A mirror, small and round and reflecting Kotarou’s face. “Come on Assassin, out of the shadows. I know you’re there.” Bartholomew smiled, something gentle and welcoming.

Kotarou didn’t trust that smile, but he stepped out of the shadows nonetheless, dropping his Presence Concealment. “Your monocle allows you to locate me.” It wasn’t a question.

Bartholomew chuckled, taking the monocle off and tucking it into his pocket. “A gift from Hōjō Ujinao, specifically designed for people like you, Assassin.” He smirked. “So which lines did you cut?”

Kotarou walked away from him, reaching out to grab the rail with one hand. He felt as taut as a bowstring, waiting for his opportunity to strike. “You’ll find out in the morning.”

Bartholomew chuckled again, “So you know your way around a seventh century ship, Assassin? I wonder how you managed that.” He joined Kotarou at the banister, one hand on his hip, his elbow resting against the wood. His eyes were gleaming, focused on Kotarou. “Aren’t you curious as to how I knew you’d be out here?”

Kotarou didn’t look at him, focused on the waves as they lapped against the boat’s side. They were dark, tipped silver with the moon's light. Calming, but hiding the dangers beneath. “You have ferried many other Heroic Spirits to this power before, I am certain a few others attempted sabotage. It would have been foolish to leave just your men up here, as I could kill them easily. I do not think you are a fool, Roberts.”

Bartholomew placed his hand against his chest, fluttering his lashes. “If you knew this, Assassin, then you knew I would catch your sabotage. Which means . . . that you are up here to see me.”

No, he was up here because Bartholomew expected a sabotage. This distraction was needed, so Kotarou would be it. “You are not telling us everything about this power.” 

“Hmm, I guess you do have a right to know, Assassin from the Fuuma clan, but where would the fun be in that?” Bartholomew said, a small smirk playing across his lips. “I can not for the life of me figure out who you are.” He continued. “Your attire is similar to the attire of the clan now, but you cannot be one of them. The only name from them that would be famous enough to spawn a Heroic Spirit is Fuuma Kotarou, and he is very much alive. Which makes me think you must be another shinobi of that clan, perhaps one of its previous jonin. So, are you here to see what your descendant is up too?”

Kotarou stared back at him, unflinching. “I am here because I have been summoned by the grail. Where I stand will be determined later.”

Bartholomew chuckled, tipping his hat. “That’s not a no.” His eyes gleamed, “But I have another theory, would you like to hear?”

Kotarou dipped his head. 

“I’ve seen Fuuma Kotarou, just once before, but his image is seared into my memory.” Bartholomew leaned forwards, reaching out with one hand to grab Kotarou’s chin. Kotarou stiffened, fighting the urge to step away, to drive a kunai into Bartholomew’s hand. “He looked like you,” Bartholomew said softly, “had the same red hair, the same chin.” He ran his thumb along Fuuma’s jaw then let go. “He was a bit taller though.” He finished, eyes dancing.

Kotarou took a slow breath. “How curious.” He said softly, “You remind me of someone too. Not in looks, but in personality. I doubt you’d enjoy the comparison.” He didn’t ease away, not yet. He refused to show any weakness. “Why did you draw your sword and not your gun?”

Bartholomew blinked sharply, his pleased look falling from his face, “Excuse me?”

Kotarou linked his hands behind his back and stepped away, footsteps silent against the planks of the deck. “You gun. Bartholomew Roberts had two guns. One you trained on Lancer, you used your sword on me. The gun would have been the better choice.”

Bartholomew’s voice hardened. “My second gun I only draw in special circumstances. You don’t want to qualify.”

Kotarou glanced at the pirate. He stood stiffly by the guard rail, face set and dark. “Lancer and I have already proven ourselves as unlikely to join your cause. Why have you not attempted to kill us yet?”

Bartholomew crossed his arms, the faintest trace of a scowl crawling across his features. “Because I want you as part of my crew, Assassin. I could care less about the Lancer, he can rot in the brig for all of eternity and I wouldn’t shed a tear. He will be taken care of. But you are different, I can tell. You are sensible.”  
Kotarou gritted his teeth, but kept his fingers loose, his shoulders relaxed. “And it is for that very reason that your ship isn’t once again gracing the bottom of the ocean.”

A soft laugh, “Poor Lancer, he doesn’t know anything about you, does he? He believes in people, in you.” Batholomew's footsteps clicked against the wood, then he was by Kotarou’s side, eyes gleaming. “But I know you, of your kind. We’re alike, aren’t we? People who will do anything to reach our goals.” Another chuckle, “I doubt Lancer would look at you the same way if he’d known what you had done in life.”

“And what did I do in life?” He felt frozen, his limbs turned to ice. 

“I don’t know,” Bartholomew sang, “but I bet it couldn’t have been very good.” He held out a hand. “And don’t think I didn’t notice. Give me.”

Kotarou’s lips tightened. He pulled out a package of black powder and placed it into the pirate’s hand. 

Bartholomew chuckled. “And what were you planning to do with this?”

“Blow up your ship and swim to the mainland.” Kotarou said coldly. “Is there anything else? I would like to get some rest tonight.”

“Actually, there is.” Bartholomew tucked the package away. “There are other options for you, you know? You don’t have to go back to that dark, disgusting brig with a fool who cannot see what a precious thing you are. There are other places you could rest your eyes for the night. More comfortable ones.”

“Roberts,” Kotrou said softly, “I retract my previous statement. You truly are a fool.” He began walking, across the deck, waiting for an attack or a gunshot that never came.

Kotarou slipped through the door in spirit form, coalescing on the other side. He took a deep breath, leaning back against the door, feeling the rough grain against his palms. He could just make out Proto, lying on his side on the floor, his hair spread out on the planks. Asleep. He’d fallen asleep. Kotarou grabbed his scarf and rubbed his jaw and chin with it, as if he could scrub away Bartholomew’s touch. 

It was over, the water and alcohol contaminated, the diversions put in place. Bartholomew would have to fix every line he’d cut, would have to make sure the black powder Kotarou had stolen was safely stored away. All he could do was wait for the morning to come.

Kotarou ran his scarf over his jaw and chin once more, then walked over to Proto’s side, stepping around him so the Lancer was between him and the door. He slid down the wall, running his hands over his arms then linking his fingers together. He stared at Proto’s sleeping form, pushing down the coil of panic that threatened to rise up. Proto’s hair fell against his face, his lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His eyelids fluttered, ruby peeking through the lashes. “Fuuma?” He mumbled, and something in Kotarou loosened.

“Hai.” He pulled one of his kunai and flipped it over and over in his hand. “Did you . . . ah . . . sleep well?’

Proto pushed himself halfway up, yawning loudly. “Nope,” he grinned slightly, “was waiting for you to come back. Did everything go okay?”

Kotarou stiffened, forcing himself not to rub at his jaw again. “Hai.”

Proto frowned, pushing himself fully up. “You’re lying. What happened?”

Kotarou stared at him. Lying . . . how had Proto known he was lying? He must have been more shaken up then he’d thought. “Ah . . . nothing I couldn't handle.” He sounded unsure, even to his own ears. “Bartholomew found me. We . . . ah . . . we talked.”

Proto opened his mouth to say something, anger flashing across his face, then he closed it and sighed. “Did he hurt you?” He said the words incredibly soft, as if the implicit violence in them was only a figment of Kotarou’s imagination.

Kotarou shook his head numbly. “I’m fine.”

Proto hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, but I’m here, you know, if you ever need to talk.” He grinned, a shade less than normal, and laid back down, arm folded underneath his head like a pillow. Almost gently, he reached out and placed his hand on Kotarou’s knee, slowly, as if giving him time to move away. Kotarou didn’t move, kunai stilling in his hands. “I’m going to get some sleep.” Proto said, his voice soft, “Okay?”

Kotarou nodded, staring at the hand lying on his knee. He could feel Proto’s heat through the fabric of his clothes, the solid weight of his hand. It was different from Bartholomew’s touch, that had been almost . . . possessive somehow. This was . . . reassuring. “Hai.” He mumbled. Sleep was a good idea, it would free up some mana for Gudako to use, but Kotarou had never had a good relationship with sleep. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Proto whispered back, rubbing a circle against Kotarou’s knee before falling still. Within moments, his breaths were even, his hand going lax on Kotarou’s knee. Kotarou had expected Proto to be a rough sleeper, he seemed the type to fight in his sleep, but he didn’t move, his eyelids barely flickering. For a while Kotarou watched him, Bartholomew’s words swimming in his mind. Proto didn’t know who he was, hadn’t seen the things he’d done, probably never researched everything Kotarou did. Proto wasn’t the type to, although Kotarou himself had spent hours in Chaldea’s library, looking up myths about every Servant Gudako summoned. Yet, no matter what, Proto was always the one to find him, to see him. Kotarou had long since gotten used to the feeling. He still wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but there was something in knowing someone had his back. It was . . . nice. 

He turned his gaze from the Lancer to the opposite wall, playing with the edges of his kunai. His gaze dropped to Proto’s hand again. It too was mostly unblemished, besides a couple of faded scars. The sight was very different from Kotarou’s own nicked hands and fingers, marred from a dozen fights. How odd, he’d expected Proto’s hands to carry the same scars, places where bladed weapons had slipped down the shaft of his spear and struck his knuckles and fingers. He sighed and glanced away, letting his head drop back against the ship's wall. For a while he sat like that before putting his kunai away. He summoned his jinburi, slipping it off and folding it up. He turned around, reaching out to lift Proto’s head and slip the makeshift pillow underneath. There was no hitch in his breath, no flicker of an eyelid to signify Proto’s awareness of the action. It didn’t matter either way. Kotarou leaned back against the wall once again, and listened to the waves as they rocked the boat from side to side. 

_Ash, he could taste it coating his tongue, the smell of smoke and burnt wood heavy in his nostrils. The rain poured down ceaselessly, plastering his hair to his face, his clothes to his skin. It slipped beneath his mask and ran rivulets down his cheek, dripping off his chin to mix with the mud and blood below his feet. He almost wished they were tears, but this had been necessary. This all had been necessary._

_He stepped forwards, mud squelching beneath his feet. He picked his way gingerly through the burnt town, weaving through fallen beams and scorched houses, ignoring the splashes of blood and the tangled and broken bodies. They had resisted. He wouldn’t have killed them if they hadn’t resisted._

_His people needed food, supplies. The war had hit them hard and the rise of the Tokugawa had been the final blow. They were pirates, bandits, nothing but remnants of the dead grasping wildly at life, trying to survive. How many towns had they raided, burnt down to keep themselves fed? He’d lost count, and really, did it matter? He would do anything for the Fuuma clan, no matter what it was. Wasn’t the dead proof of this?_

_He reached up and removed his mask, the wood smooth beneath his fingers. The rain pounded against his face, cold coating his cheeks and sending a chill through his body. He titled his head towards the sky and let it come, pretended it was all the tears he couldn’t shed._

_“I am sorry . . .”_

_The rain pounded harder, splattering against his shoulders and head. Somewhere, someone screamed. There was the crackle of flames, the familiar heat, the smell of smoke._

_“I am sorry father . . .”_

_The village was burning, the flames leaping high around him. A circle. A prison. In them, shapes ran, tripped, died. Voices clamored in his ears, begging, pleading, screaming. The crackle of the flames grew louder, drowning all the other sounds out till all he could hear was fire. His skin heated up, reddened, and split open, revealing a burning light beneath. He could feel the cracks run up his arms, claw across his neck, race across his face as the sound of the flames grew and grew and grew._

_“I am sorry father . . . for I was too weak.”_

Kotarou’s eyes snapped open, his breath rushing out in one large gasp. He could still see the flames, taste the ashes, hear the crackle, but his limbs were numb as if doused in ice. Cold, he was cold. He felt like his breath should be pluming in the air, visible for all to see. But no, it was his imagination, he knew it was imagination. He always woke up cold from those dreams.

He reached up and scrubbed his face, hoping to feel wetness on his cheeks, but there was nothing. Tears would have made sense. Tears for the dead, tears for what he’d lost, tears for what he’d done. But he had never mourned, had never seen the reason too. What was done was done. He had no regrets. He just wished . . .

He sighed and looked down, forcing his mind on now instead of then. He’d been down that path too many times before, there was no reason to trot down it again. Normally he’d have gone to the simulation room, not for the fight, but for the distraction. He couldn’t think about the past when he was finding the flaws in Da Vinci’s creations. So instead, he focused on the way the ship rocked beneath him, on the wood pressed against his skin, and the one bit of him that wasn’t cold.

His knee. His knee wasn’t cold because Proto’s hand still lay loosely on top of it, pale skin obvious against the grey fabric of his pants. Kotarou stared at his hand for a moment, the long fingers, the carefully cut fingernails, then he turned his head to look at Proto, who still slept peacefully. The Lancer had shifted slightly in his sleep, he was a bit closer to Kotarou, leaning slightly towards him, nose buried in his jinburi. His hair was snarled and tangled, covering half his face and sticking up in other places. It would need a good brushing through before it would be returned to its normal state. His shirt was twisted too, the words on the front distorted and half hidden, rucked up slightly so Kotarou could catch a glimpse of where skin met jeans. His necklace glimmered faintly against the floor, a crescent moon with a wolf’s head. Kotarou could just make out the answering glint of his earring, half hidden by his tangled hair.

Proto looked so peaceful sleeping there, his wild energy stilled, set aside for another time. The sight was almost calming, to know at least one of them was able to have a full night's rest. Still . . . what did Proto dream of? Was it the past? Or his future? Or something completely different? Or was his sleep dreamless, as Kotarou wished his nights could be?

_“I doubt Lancer would look at you the same way if he’d known what you had done in life.”_

Kotarou winced, ripping his gaze away from Proto’s face. Although Kotarou didn’t know what Bartholomew had meant by the way Proto looked at him, the rest of his words rang true. Proto didn’t know what Kotarou had done, the choices he’d made, what he’d become. He only had the Throne of Hero's knowledge to guide them, and in the end, that was insufficient to truly paint out the tragedies that Kotarou had caused. He had no illusions, he knew what he became. A monster with his hands dripping blood. 

If only he could . . .

He bit his lip. There he was again, going down that familiar path, only this time Proto’s reaction upon finding out the truth was imprinted into his mind. Kotarou could imagine it all too well, he’d seen the look a dozen times before. He didn’t want to see it on Proto’s face. He breathed in harshly, he needed a distraction. The lantern, he could attempt to fix that. He began to move, only for Proto’s hand to seize up on his knee. Kotarou’s breath stuttered in his throat and he looked at the Lancer. Proto’s brows had furrowed slightly, a small frown crossing his lips. Kotarou froze, and Proto scooted a few inches closer to him, the troubled look easing from his face. Kotarou could feel the warmth that radiated off of him, and part of him relaxed into that warmth. It was nice to feel after waking up so cold. 

Very well, he would not work on the lantern right now. He pulled out his notebook instead, squinting to make out the letters in the dark. This would work, it would have too. He bit his lip and got to work.

Sometime later, Kotarou felt Bartholomew’s presence began to make its way in their direction. He put his notebook up and reached out to shake Proto’s shoulder. Throughout the night, the Lancer had shifted towards him, Kotarou’s jinburi half unfolded and trailing across the floor, his hand loosely wrapped around Kotarou’s knee, a good bit of his arm pressed against his lower leg. He looked so peaceful, but Bartholomew couldn’t find Proto in modern day clothes, their story would be ruined if he did. So Kotarou didn’t hesitate to shake the Lancer awake.

Proto’s shoulder was hot beneath his hand, even through the cloth of his shirt. His eyes fluttered, then snapped open, wide and startled. He jerked back, rolling away from Kotarou with a yelp and cheeks stained red. “Oh shit! I’m - fuck - ah . . .” He groaned, burying his face into his hands, jinburi trailing from one fist. He yelped again and let go, bright red eyes flicking between Kotarou and the jinburi with frenzied haste. “I can explain.” 

Kotarou failed to bite back a laugh at the spectacle. “Ah . . . no, you’re fine. You were . . . ah . . . sleeping.” He reached out to snag his jinburi, letting it fade away between his fingers. “Roberts is coming,” he said softly, “we need to be ready.”

Proto gulped. “Yeah, you’re right.” He rubbed his tangled hair awkwardly, and in a moment, was in his armor again. “Uh . . . flashlight,” he mumbled, digging around before holding out the flashlight. 

Kotarou nodded and snagged it from him, putting it back into his bag. When he looked up, Proto’s face was still dappled red, hair sticking up at awkward angles, made only worse by the hand laying in the blue locks. Kotarou bit back a smile at the sight. “Ah . . . are you ready?”

“To deal with Bartholomew?” Proto scrunched his face up, his eyes flashing, “Absolutely not. But I guess i don’t have a choice, do I?” 

Kotarou shook his head, adjusting his scarf so it covered his chin. “Ah . . . no.” He tugged at his hair, making sure that his eyes couldn’t be seen. He didn’t want Bartholomew to be able to tell anything from his face. _“But it’s only for a little bit longer.”_

Proto laughed softly, _“True enough.”_

They fell silent and turned to watch the door. Proto fidgeted, yanking at his hair and playing with his necklace, his nervous energy back. Kotarou watched him out of the corner of his eye, startled at the change. How could someone who moved so much while awake move so little when asleep? It was like watching two different people with the same face. Then again . . . many people had said that about him. 

The door cracked open, light spilling into the room. Bartholomew stood there, hat tilted up, eye gleaming, his gold jewelry catching the light. He smiled gently, but there was a sharp edge to it. Kotarou wondered how much his words last night had affected the pirate. “Good morning,” Bartholomew said, “I hope you had a lovely night. Not you Lancer, I hope you had the worst sleep imaginable.”

“No worries,” Proto shot back, “I slept like a babe.”

Bartholomew clucked his tongue. “Shame. Shall you two join me for breakfast, or shall you two stay down here?”

“Ah . . . I feel like breakfast is in order.” Kotarou said softly, and Bartholomew beamed at him.

“Wonderful.”

Bartholomew passed them both a cup of tea that morning, making one for himself silently. Compared to yesterday, the silence was jarring, but Kotarou was more worried about not drinking the tea without being impolite. Proto managed easily, just growling at his cup and digging into his breakfast. It was not Sengoku fare, but closer to something that might have been found in England or the surrounding countries. In the end, Kotarou only picked at his meal, not touching his tea. With the words exchanged last night, it would make sense. He could pretend he was sullen about his ploys not working out. 

“Lancer,” Bartholomew said, sipping at his cup of tea, “did Assassin tell you what he was up to last night? He did quite a bit of damage to the ship.”

“Really Assassin?” Proto asked dryly, “you should have asked me to come with you. We could have blown a hole in the hull and sunk this rust bucket.”

Bartholomew’s lips tightened, “My ship is not a rust bucket.”

Kotarou dipped his head. It would take an hour or so for the morphine to kick in, perhaps a bit longer for people to fall asleep. “It’s . . . ah . . . actually ahead of its time, Lancer.” He said softly. “And I . . . ah . . . I don’t like the idea of swimming back to Japan.”

Proto clicked his tongue. “Come on, we could have made a race of it. Seen who was faster.”

Kotarou was pretty sure he would have been faster. Proto was wearing armor, it would weigh him down. “Perhaps we still will.”

“And kill everyone on board?” Bartholomew asked softly, “Your dedication to your goal is admirable.” 

“Oi,” Proto shot, “They’re your men, Noble Phantasm or not you should at least care about whether they die.”

“They are dead,” Bartholomew said, his voice cold, “so right now they are tools. Isn’t that right, Assassin?”

Kotarou glanced at him, “Ah . . . no. The people you lead are never tools.” He would burn the world for his clan, would become a monster for his clan, but he had always, always made sure that they were okay. A ninja without a soul was simply a weapon. He had exchanged his so they would not give up theirs. He would do it again in a heartbeat.

Bartholomew stared at him, eyebrows furrowing, while Proto grinned so wide it seemed his face would split.

They were tossed back into the brig after that, and this time Bartholomew didn’t say goodbye. Kotarou was almost tempted to laugh. No, Proto didn’t know him, but Bartholomew didn’t either, and somehow that made him breathe easier. _“Now all we do is wait.”_

 _“Yep,”_ Proto stretched, pressing his fingers against the ceiling. _“How long?”_

_“An hour and a half to be safe.”_

Proto made a face, _“Wonderful.”_ For a moment he was silent, then he spoke again. “Hey, do you have a pack of cards? I really don’t want to sit around for an hour and a half doing nothing.”

Kotarou stared at him for a moment, then ducked his head. “Hai.”

Proto was bad at cards. Go fish was a bust. Rummy was worse. Playing Solitaire with him screwed them both over. It was really quite amazing, how bad he was at cards, and how he still managed to laugh and roll his eyes and grin with each loss. The sight brought a small smile to his own face. 

An hour and thirty minutes later, Kotarou had timed it, he had a watch for that among other things, Da vinci had made it for him, Kotarou collected the scattered remnants of their bout of War. Proto’s face was in his hands, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “I hope we managed to use all my bad luck on these games.” 

Kotarou glanced at him. “Ah . . . hai.” 

He took a deep breath and slipped the pack of cards away. Bartholomew’s presence hadn’t moved in the past fifteen minutes, and Kotarou hoped the pirate was asleep. He glanced at Proto, his bright red eyes, the grin that had stretched across his face, wide and violent and eager. He nodded, then stepped into spirit form, Proto following him. He moved forwards, through the door and onto the deck. It was quiet, people passed out everywhere. No doubt some of them were dead, and if anyone was still awake, well . . . that could be dealt with easily enough.

They moved up onto the deck, and Kotarou took a moment to look around, staring at all the people who had passed out on board. Kotarou fought back a smile, it worked. And it would continue working until they figured out about the water and alcohol. Good. He walked over to the side of the boat, where the smaller rowboats were roped to the side. He coalesced, his Presence Concealment still up, and Proto appeared next to him, eyes narrowed in concentration. Kotarou drew a kunai and passed it over, then drew another and began to cut the ropes. Proto followed his lead, and together they watched the boat fall to waves below. Kotarou hopped over the rail, bending his knees to take the impact. Proto thudded down beside him, boat rocking precariously. Kotarou reached out to grab the sides as Proto summoned Gae Bolg and pushed them away from Bartholomew’s ship. 

They rowed away, leaving a vessel of unconscious bodies behind them.

Kotarou looked over his shoulder, staring at the distant vessel. They were almost halfway to Japan, and Kotarou didn’t know what to think. It had been too easy, or it felt too easy. He turned back to Proto, “Ah . . . I feel like we should row faster.”

Proto tilted his head, “Worried?”

“Hai.” He ducked his head.

“Got it, we’ll row faster then.” He sent a grin Kotarou’s way, and they fell silent again, with nothing but the winds and the waves between them.

Kotarou opened his mouth and closed it again. With what was ahead . . . what was ahead? All he could do was guess and worry and wonder. All he knew for certain was that Hōjō Ujinao was alive and in control, and that he himself was alive as well. He didn’t know anything else, and there wasn’t enough to create a theory or idea. He just had to focus on getting back to Gudako and figuring out the Singularity. But just in case . . . “Ah . . . Proto?”

Proto blinked, red flashing across his face. “Yeah?”

“Ah . . .” He bit his lip, then said softly, “You can . . . call me Kotarou . . . if . . . ah . . . you want.” 

Proto gasped, his hands loosening on the oars. His eyes widened, literally brightening, glee flashing across his face. “Really?”

“Hai.” 

“Kotarou,” Proto said softly, and Kotarou could feel heat flash across his cheeks at the sound. “Kotarou, thank you!” He grinned, wide and bright, his hair snagging the sun’s rays till each blue strand seemed to glow.

Kotarou sucked in a sharp breath, before managing a small smile. “Hai . . . you’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m cackling because I can finally play around with a chaotic evil character who is also really nice in normal situations and I absolutely love it. He’s just a polite person until you mess with his people and then he’s a monster and it's great.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the funny shirts, complements? Complements, progress? No. Yes. Maybe., fight scene fight scene fight scene, I didn’t mean to write Jack and Proto like siblings but here we are, it's a thing now, Da Vinci and Romani are married you can’t change my mind, and so it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, look at me, going back to the tags and editing them. BWA HA HA HA. JK, not much to worry about this chapter, but next chapter . . . *cue evil laughter* ANYWAY, thank you so much for your comments and kudos, each one is greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ Proto opened the door to what Gudako had dubbed the entertainment room. Apparently there were a few of them, left untouched by Lev’s betrayal. Most, however, had been stripped for parts for other more vital areas. This one though hadn’t been touched, all of its furniture was still in place. Inside, Emiya, Gudako, Mash, and Fuuma sat at a table. He was late. Shit. _

_ “Sorry,” He yelped, running over to grab a chair, yanking it out and spinning it around. “I was dragging CasCu away from something that was totally his fault. What did you need us for?” He grinned cheerily, sitting down and draping his arms across the back rest. _

_ Gudako closed her eyes and sighed. She looked tired, worn out and faded. These past few days had been mandatory rest days after the end of Orleans. Romani had not allowed her to hop straight to Rome to continue their journey like she had wanted to do. “I’ve talked with Romani and Da Vinci, and we’ve come to an agreement. We’re going to focus on fixing up Chaldea and increasing our forces. We don’t want to find Lev and be unprepared.” She gritted her teeth, hands flexing in her lap, then she sighed, dropping her head a fraction. “That said, I want you all to know that I don’t think of you as tools. You are people, with your own histories and your own troubles, and I want you to know you can rely on me if you need to.” She glanced up at them and smiled. “I am going to try to get to know all my servants, and since you three were summoned first, I thought I would start with you.” _

_ “Senpai . . .” Mash whispered, staring at Gudako with wide eyes. _

_ Emiya leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. His voice was blank when he said, “This is a large burden you’re placing upon yourself.” _

_ “I know, but I owe it to the Director to see this through in the best way I can. And I don't know how to . . .” She trailed off, wincing, “I want to know you all for yourselves, not just for your abilities.” _

_ “Hai.” Fuuma said, and Proto jerked his gaze towards the Assassin. He sat curled up in his seat, hair covering his face, head tilted slightly. Proto hadn’t seen him sense they’d Rayshifted back, and it was a shame. He missed their little game. “If you know how we tick, you can use us better.” _

_ “No!” Gudako jerked up. “That’s not what I’m saying! I’m trying to say that I don’t want to treat you like tools! You are here of your own violation, your own choice, I don’t want to take that from you. I would prefer it if you stayed by my side because you wanted to.” _

_ Proto raised a hand. “Well I, for one, don’t mind one bit. I love getting to know the people I’m fighting with.” He rubbed his hair sheepishly and grinned, “But also . . . I’m kinda getting bored. Is there something I can do to fight wise that could help around? I’m itching for a battle or two.” _

_ “Uh . . . hai!” Mash nodded, sharply, turning from watching Gudako to face Proto instead. “There were numerous small singularities that appeared with France’s Restoration. They would be good places where Gudako can learn how different teams operate, as well as farming for materials that can be used in reconstructing Chaldea. It can also take off the itch of our most battle hungry Servants.” _

_ Gudako started at her, jaw swinging open. “You’ve put a lot of thought into that Mash.” _

_ Mash flushed slightly, looking away. “Well . . . I want to be useful to you, Senpai.” She smiled, as if she was unaccustomed to the movement but liked how it felt. _

_ Gudako grinned. “Thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better Demi-Servant.” She turned back to the table, leaving Mash to reach up and touch her red cheeks wonderingly. “As for you three, I have something for you. And Mash.” _

_ “For us?” Emiya asked. _

_ Gudako nodded, reaching below the table and setting four folded pieces of cloth onto the table. Were they . . . shirts? “I had to guess at the sizes, but I figured Chaldea would need something to bring it together. And nothing brings people together like becoming a funny shirt.” She passed the four shirts out, “Here you go!” _

_ Proto grabbed his, unfolding it to reveal a dark blue shirt with silver letters spelling out I DON’T CARE WHO DIES IN A MOVIE AS LONG AS THE DOG LIVES. He laughed wildly. “I love this.” _

_ Emiya groaned and folded his back up. “I have a bad feeling that I won’t be able to get rid of this.” _

_ Fuuma tilted his head, staring at his own shirt. “I . . . ah . . . I don’t understand.” _

_ Mash was staring at hers in a similar state of confusion. “Ah, thanks Senpai?” _

_ Gudako grinned, something significantly less strained, the weight dropping from her shoulders. “I’m glad you like them! I figure that I’ll have to set up an official funny shirt day so we can wear them all. I know the clothing department will be glad to focus on something that’s not bandages or gauze. Anyway,” she pulled something out of her pocket and set it on the table. A small box with its sides decorated in blue. She grinned. “Who's down for a couple games of rummy?” _

Kotarou. Kotarou Kotarou Kotarou Kotarou. Proto couldn’t stop grinning. He felt like he was going to burst from delight, as if Christmas had come early and he had gotten something he had been wanting his whole life. Kotarou. Fuuma wanted Proto to call him Kotarou. Kotarou. It was such a nice name too, Proto wanted to say it over and over, to shout it from the rooftops and hear it echo back at him. He wanted to get up and jump around, to reach over and grab Kotarou and spin him around, laughing as he did so. He didn’t though, just squirmed happily and focused his extra energy on rowing. 

Kotarou, by Lugh it was such a wonderful name, had skunk back into himself, head ducked, chin covered by his scarf, eyes covered by his hair. He looked so different when not coated in darkness, his hair turned to flame, the light playing over his shoulders and arms, highlighting his muscles as he rowed. The tattoo on his shoulder flexed and coiled, dark against his pale skin. Not for the first time, Proto wondered if it had a meaning. He could ask. He should ask.

Kotarou glanced at him, one eye flashing behind his hair, and Proto squeaked, heat exploding across his cheeks. Staring. He’d been staring. Again. He needed to stop, he needed to stop now. He jerked his gaze away, eyes focused on Bartholomew’s ship in the distance. Kotarou was nervous, and Proto trusted his experience. “How long does the morphine last?”

“Ah . . . effects normally last for four to six hours,” Fuuma said softly, “but it takes almost twelve for it to clear the blood. But they are a Servant and his creations, it might take less.”

“Think I should Gae Bolg the ship?” Proto asked hopefully. “Probably won’t work, but I could give it a good go.”

Kotarou laughed, a breathless sound, his shoulders shaking briefly. Proto grinned at the sight, that bubble of happiness in his chest blooming a bit larger. Bartholomew aside, this might have been the best day of his life. “Ah . . . no, I don’t think it would do enough damage to sink the ship from this distance. Besides, I . . . ah . . . I cut all the lines on his ship. He probably fixed a good bit of them throughout the night, but he also had to worry about me messing with the black powder stores. So there is the possibility he missed a few.”

“And did you mess with the black powder stores?”

“Hai.” Kotarou ducked his head slightly, “Roberts now only has one workable packet of black powder.”

Proto couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed until his throat hurt. “By Lugh,” he managed finally, “If only I could see his face. Kotarou, you’re amazing.”

What was visible of Kotarou’s face went red. “I . . . ah . . . no . . . I . . .”

Proto burst out laughing again. “Take the compliment, Kotarou. You deserve it.” 

Kotarou made a small noise, shrinking back into his scarf, his face going even redder. “Ah . . . thanks.” He mumbled, his voice quiet. 

Proto grinned at the sight, unable to keep it back. “You are,” he pushed. “You just took down a whole ship of pirates by yourself. We just survived a cave meant to trap Heroic Spirits thanks to your input. Your healing cream helped us both get on our feet after the mess that was that Rayshift. We made it this far because of you.”

Kotarou squirmed, his rowing coming to a halt. “No . . . ah . . . you were important too! I’m . . . ah . . . not much of a fighter . . . I couldn’t have dealt with the orochi without you! And probably not the wrights . . . or the chimeras.”

“Kotarou.” Proto stopped rowing. He leaned forwards, trying to get a glimpse of the Assassin’s face. Kotarou had shrunk so low into his scarf that there was barely a gap between hair and fabric. “You have no clue how to take a compliment, do you?”

Kotarou shook his head slowly.

Proto grinned, leaning back. “Well, I’m just going to have to give you compliments until you get used to them then.” Kotarou yelped, jerking his head up to stare at Proto. His hair had shifted enough so Kotarou could glimpse one eye, wide with surprise, gleaming bright red. His face cheeks were spattered with the color, and Proto resisted the urge to lean forwards and push the hair out of his face to see if the blush spread to his ears as well. “Don’t give me that look,” Proto beamed, “You deserve every one.”

Kotarou made a strangled noise. “Rowing! Ah . . . rowing. Before Roberts wakes up.”

Oh yes, rowing. Proto laughed again. “Okay, you escape this time. But you can’t escape forever.”

Kotarou ducked his head again, hiding his face as if it could help. “Ah . . . I know.” It was said very, very softly, and Proto practically melted. By Lugh . . . no focus. Rowing. He had to row. He started moving again, and silently, Kotarou began to row as well. They had to focus on this. He could shower Kotarou with compliments later.

Proto jumped off the side of the ship, feet squelching into the sand below the waves. The boat had hit ground, and now seawater was soaking through his wrappings and chilling his skin. Kotarou, still on the boat, twisted in his seat. He had drawn a pair of binoculars from his bag and now held them up to his eyes. “Anything?” Proto asked, leaning forwards, arms draped across the damp wood. 

“Hai.” Kotarou said, his voice clipped. “Robert’s ship has started moving again.” He pulled the binoculars from his face, turning to Proto with a small frown on his lips. “They aren’t chasing us.” He finished softly.

Proto blinked. “They aren’t?” Kotarou shook his head and Proto groaned. “I wonder where that asshole’s going.”

Kotarou bit his lip, “They could have been called back. Or could have been contacted by  Hōjō. There are ways.” He tucked the binoculars away and jumped off the boat, water splashing up at the impact. “The important thing is he’s not coming after us.”

“Thank Lugh for that.” Proto rocked back on his heels before shaking his head and starting towards the shore.  _ “Yo, Gudako, we’re free from the asshole pirate and headed your direction.”  _

_ “Good!”  _ Gudako’s voice came in a rush.  _ “Can’t talk now, but get here as quickly as possible! And it’s Gudao today!” _

Proto grinned.  _ “Got it! Will be there as soon as possible!”  _ He pointed, “That way, right?”   
Kotarou appeared beside him, barely hindered by the water even though it lapped higher up on his legs then it did Proto’s. “Hai.” He tilted his head softly, “Shall we begin?” 

Proto nudged him with his elbow. “Race you.” He took off running before Kotarou could answer, water splashing against his face, then his feet thudding against the sand. The wind threaded through his hair and he could taste the saltiness of it on his tongue. The sun’s warmth felt good on his face. Then there was a burst of wind, the sharp displacement of air, and then Kotarou was in front of him, dark cloths and red scarf tugged by the wind, his hair pressed against his face and a small smile on his lips.

Proto grinned and let loose the laugh that was building in his throat. It lingered in the air long after they had left the beach.

Sometime later Proto had to stop. He leaned against a tree, hand digging into the bark, the other gripping his knee, wheezing for breath. He was a Heroic Spirit, a small run wasn’t beyond him, but a full speed sprint that seemed to have crossed at least half of Japan was something else entirely. Kotarou appeared near him, wiping his face with his arm. His shoulders were shaking slightly, and Proto could hear his deep breaths, but he wasn’t gasping for air like Proto was.

Proto pushed himself up, glancing around. They were in a wooded area, they’d passed through a couple similar to this, but those had been quick flashes, nothing but blurs of trees that broke into farmland to towns to burnt remains of cities and battlefields. Gudako had not been kidding, it was a warzone. Even the towns that hadn’t been destroyed showed strain, haggard faced people, thin and hungry. No doubt there was more to it then that, but there hadn’t been enough time to figure the signs out. This place however, was calm. The leaves rustled with the wind. Sunlight slipped through the branches to dapple the ground below. Birds sang in the trees. A spot of peace and quiet.

It was nice to be able to drink it in after all that had happened, and what would happen. He’d learned long ago that as much fun the many battles were, moments of peace were just as nice. He tipped his head back, soaking in the sun that spattered across his face and armor. He stayed there for a moment, then rotated his shoulders. “Ready to get a move on?”

Kotarou glanced up at him, a small frown on his lips. “This is wrong.” He said softly, “According to Roberts, the wars are over, the  Hōjō faction in control. So why does it look like the fights are still going on?”

Proto scratched his head, “It’s a bit beyond me. Maybe he’s battle hungry? A tyrant? Or maybe this power is telling him to raid the villages for a reason.”

Kotarou bit his lip, fiddling with a kunai, the blade flashing over and over in his hands. “Ah . . . maybe, but I don’t . . . it doesn’t feel like him. Then again, I didn’t know him very well.”

Proto frowned, “I thought you served under him.”

“Hai, but not for very long.” Kotarou rocked back onto his heels, ducking his head slightly. “He died a year after the siege. After that . . . we . . .”

“Turned to banditry.” Proto finished softly, watching Kotarou carefully.

The Assassin lifted his head, his hair shifting slightly so Proto could see one eye. “Hai, we turned to banditry.” His voice was cold, calm. His visible eye was slightly narrowed, glowing through the gaps of his hair. “I know what we did . . . what I did.” Then, considerably softer, something just barely heard, he added. “I do not deserve compliments.”

Proto swallowed hard. There was something in Kotarou’s tone that he didn’t like, a trace of self depreciation that ran like water under the crackle of his voice. “Do you think I didn’t know?” He asked softly, taking a step forward. Kotarou didn’t flinch, so Proto walked over to stand in front of him, meeting his one visible eye with his own two. “I did. But that doesn’t mean I’ll take those compliments back. I meant every one, Kotarou.” He reached out, then let his hand fall to his side. “I’ve killed people before too, you know.”

“As a warrior. In battle.” Kotarou was very still, but his voice shook slightly.

“Yes, it’s not the same is it?” Proto sighed, then grinned at him. It was a weak grin, but he hoped it signaled to Kotarou that he didn’t care about what had happened in the past or in his future. This was here and now. Nothing else influenced it. “But I don’t care. Kotarou you’re, you’re amazing. You’re smart and capable and -”

“We should go.” Kotarou’s voice cut through his like a knife through butter, and the rest of Proto’s words stuck in his throat. Kotarou ducked his head slightly, his face hidden once again, his mouth a grim slash. “There isn’t time to waste.” Then he was gone, rushing past Proto with a barely heard woosh.

Proto hesitated for a moment, wanting to scream out, to cry out that Kotarou needed to listen to him, but . . . but that was Kotarou’s choice, wasn’t it? All Proto could do was be there for him, in case Kotarou ever needed him. So he swallowed the lump in his throat and chanced after him, eyes focused on the flickering form of the retreating Assassin.

When they stopped again, the silence was brittle, and Proto had no clue what to say. Kotarou crouched on a rock, mostly hidden in the shadows, as if trying to remind Proto of his class and what he’d done. Proto stared at the ground, letting his breaths even out. This day has started out so well too . . . and now all he could feel Kotarou’s prying gaze on his shoulders, as if he was trying to pick Proto apart and figure out if he’d been lying or not. Finally, he broke, tilting his head back to look at the Assassin. “Certainly there were good parts. Things that made you happy. It couldn’t have all been war and death.” 

Kotarou didn’t say anything, just looked away, shoulders hunching slightly.

“Were there good things?” Proto asked, pushing off his own bit of rock. The question had been itching under his own skin. He did things, later in life, that he was not proud of, but the good outweighed the bad, so he didn’t mind the path he took. But Kotarou . . .

“Hai.” Kotarou said softly. “Not so much later, but I . . . ah . . . I remember my mother fondly. My father as well. But . . . he died while I was young. And Mother . . .” He sighed, “My men. My clan. I took pride in them.” He slipped off the rock, feet thudding softly against the ground. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I want to know if you were happy.” Proto said softly, “You’re my friend, Kotarou.” And by Lugh, he wished that wasn’t the only thing they were. “I don’t care what happened in your past. You are fighting for humanity's future. There’s something in that that makes everything else less important and that’s what I care about. You’re a strong fighter. You’re clever. You’re skilled. And you care, perhaps not about everyone, but about some people. You answered Gudao’s call from the beginning. You didn’t have to, but you did. That’s what I care about.”

For a long time Kotarou was silent. The brook near them babbled its light song, a small stream of silver through the grass. The wind rustled the leaves and branches. Proto could feel it tug at his hair, and the end’s of Kotarou’s scarf fluttered with its breath. “We’re . . . friends?”

Proto gaped at him, “What did you think we were?”

Kotarou flushed, hard. He ducked his head, chin hidden by his scarf, but Proto could still see where his skin was scorched red. “I . . . ah . . . I don’t have a lot of friends.” He mumbled into his scarf.

Proto stared at him for a moment, feeling his own flush work itself across his face. Then he grinned, wide and delighted, warmth running through his veins, swelling in his chest until it was pounding with his heartbeat. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but we are friends. And once a Chulainn claims a person as a friend, they can never escape. I am with you, one hundred percent of the way. No matter what.”

Kotarou jerked his head up, mouth open slightly in shock. “Ah . . . hai.” He said numbly. Then, softer, so soft he probably hadn’t meant Proto to hear it, he said, “Friends.” There was a note of wonder in that voice, as if he hadn’t expected something like that to happen.

Proto swallowed, rubbing a hand over his hair. Friends, officially friends with Kotarou. He could practically hear CasCu yelling in the background. “Hey, Kotarou,” he asked, “are we good?”

Kotarou nodded slowly. “Hai . . . I . . . ah . . . think we are.” He tilted his head slightly, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Ah . . . race you on this last bit.”

Proto grinned, “You’re on.” He exploded into movement, but Fuuma was already gone. Proto felt a wild laugh burn in the back of his throat, breaking into the air. Distantly, but not as distant as he thought it would be, Proto could hear Kotarou’s own stuttering laughter. It was light in the air, the crackle of his voice slipping into the sound, like music to Proto’s ears. Proto ducked his head and ran faster, the music of Kotarou’s laughter and the challenge lighting a fire inside his chest that pushed him to greater speeds. 

The sounds of battle echoed in his ears and Proto veered in that direction, shooting out his hand, Gae Bolg falling into his grip. The flicker of Kotarou’s form disappeared, then Proto was bursting out of the tree cover, branches and leaves clawing across his face and snagging his leaves and armor. He caught a flash of what was before him. Gudao behind Mash’s shield, hands on Jack’s back as green light played around them both. Hercules and the Lion King fought what looked to be monstrous shadows with long blades, tendrils of darkness spiraling of their indistinct forms. Hercules had gaping wounds in his chest and arms and legs, but moving with the fury of a storm. The Lion King was off her horse, her armor cracked and scuffed, her lance blazing in her hands as she burned the shadow creatures away.

Proto hit the ground running, Gae Bolg leaving his fingers in a red blur. One of the shadows spun around, blade arching silver to bat away his spear. Then Kotarou was there, so fast there was a double, cutting the shadow apart with his kunai before Hercules’ axe sliced it down the middle. Proto grinned wildly and reached out a hand, Gae Bolg flying back into his grip, then he smashed into the shadows’ ranks, shaft beating away blades and spear tip digging into shadowy flesh. They didn’t scream like he’d expected them too, utterly silent as they blocked and attacked, moving like one creature instead of a cluster of individuals.

Proto shifted to the side as a blade glided by his face, another sparked off the armor covering his arm. He spun around, Gae Bolg shattering one blade, then Jack was there, yanking her blade across the shadow’s throat as another buried into it’s back. It disappeared, and from behind him came a loud roar of pain. A pillar of fire flickered in the corner of his eye. Jack disappeared, and then he was spinning a wild defense again, weaving through swords and striking when possible.

“Kotarou, Proto,” Gudao’s voice, strained but collected, like it always was in situations like this, “There’s something in the middle that destroys them if you break it. Aim for center mass. Hercules, fall back.”

“Got it!” Proto called, dropping beneath a blade and swiping Gae Bolg through the midriff of his attacker. It hit something solid, there was a sound like the shattering of glass, then the shadow disappeared, the sword falling to the ground.

Proto danced back, the one he just destroyed replaced by another. A blade skittered across his pauldron, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the one that bit into his side. He gritted his teeth in pain, spun around to shove Gae Bolg into the shadow’s middle. Another tinkle of glass, the shadow disappeared, and he spun his spear around him, fending off other blows. He grinned widely as Kotarou’s kusarigama wrapped around a blade, creating an opening for his spear. He dove in for the killing blow.

“Lion King fall back.” Gudao’s voice was shaky, but the roar Hercules let off was so loud Proto swore the earth shook.

Then there was the loud crash of feet against the ground, a hulking shape looming high above Proto’s opponents. Hercules’ axe swept through two of the shadows Proto was fighting, and they dissolved as the Berserker demolished their cores. Proto grinned wider, leaping back out of the way of the other four blades. His feet dug into the earth, he shot forwards, a streak of red and blue that cut through three of the shadows. They faded and the last died when Jack’s knives cut it apart from its middle. She grinned at Proto, a bright, cheerful grin, then leapt onto the back of one Kotarou was fighting, knives flashing as she cut it apart. Proto laughed at the sight, then lunged to help Mash destroy the seven that had targeted Gudao.

By Lugh it was good to see them all.

Proto smashed into one that was trying to get around Mash, his spear breaking it’s blade before plunging into it’s midriff, then the Lion King stepped away from Gudao and around Mash, her eyes glowing in that uncanny way they had. She lunged into the battle, Rhongomyniad gl owing ever brighter in her grip. Three burned away, and two more were blasted to nothing. Gudao stood painfully, “Anyone else need healing?”

“No.” Kotarou said sharply. He’d switched his kunai for his kusarigama, and it spun around him in a silver arc. Three loud shatters, the shadows faded away. Mash hit the last with a shield bash and glass sprayed from it’s middle, catching the light before tinkling to the ground. It faded, and they were left alone in a burnt field, nothing but their strained breathing filling the air.

Mash planted her shield against the ground, twisting around. “Is everyone okay? Senpai?”

“Mommy!” Jack raced over to Gudao’s side, helping him stand up.

Gudao grinned lopsidedly. “Just overtaxed myself a bit that’s all. Everyone else?”

Proto touched his side, pulled away to fingers coated in blood. He sighed. “Nothing that requires your attention.”

“Good.” The Lion King said, her voice as cold as ever. “Gudao has had precious little to eat the past few days. There seems to be a famine going on and we did not pack enough supplies for an extended stay.”

Kotarou looked up. His hair had shifted to reveal one bright eye and the smooth expanse of his cheek and jaw. Blood dotted his pale skin and the fabric of his pants had been ripped to reveal a flash of skin beneath. He was crouching, his fingers pressed against the dry grass, his brows furrowed. He stood, tucking something away. “Ah . . . I have rations.”

Gudao made a face. “I guess I’ll have to deal. Come on, let’s find someplace safe to compare notes.”

Da Vinci and Romani located a cave nearby, so that was where they headed, a defensible position where they could stay the night. Hercules oftan slipped into spirit form when not fighting, as if the massive Berserker really needed stealth on his side, and today was no exception. The Lion King summoned her horse, and rode on it with Gudao clinging to her waist, eyes screwed shut in distaste. Kotarou had already disappeared, scouting their way. Mash walked beside Gudako, glancing around with nervous eyes, shield held tightly in her grip. Proto was on high alert as well, Gae Bolg in his hands, eye’s scanning the fields around them. Jack was the only one who wasn’t stiff and silent. She skipped beside him, humming cheerfully and sending knowing looks in his direction.

What she knew, he didn’t know for sure, but he suspected. Little Miss Murder was on CasCu’s payroll, she had to be.

He cast his gaze over the countryside. Night had fallen, the sky partly covered with dark clouds and studded with stars. This place was worse off then most of the area’s he and Kotarou had raced by, with large patches of scorched earth and the remains of burnt villages, swathed in shadows from the half full moon. The whole area had an unfriendly feel, as if enemies were going to leap from the half standing skeletons of houses and take them on. More of those shadow people perhaps. Proto grinned. It was an exciting prospect, but Gudao had already overtaxed his magic circuits. Getting into another fight today would be a bad idea, no matter how fun it might be.

Jack poked him in the side. “You haven’t stopped bleeding.” She said, way too cheerfully for Proto’s comfort.

Proto slapped her fingers away. “Lower your voice, sheesh. And it’s not too bad.”

Jack tilted her head, her yellow gaze like lanterns in the gloom. Creepy child. “I’ll fix it for you!” She pulled out a needle and some thread beneath her cloak, grinning her slasher smile.

“No, we’re walking.” Proto hissed, poking her shoulder with Gae Bolg. He thought he heard the Lion King snort in amusement, but it could have easily been Mash as well. “I’ll get it looked at later.” 

Jack stabbed him. Not with one of her knives, but with the needle. He yelped, jumping to the side and sweating violently. Lugh damn all tiny murder children and their instance that everything could be solved by stabbing. “Mommy,” Jack whined, “Proto won’t let me heal his wounds.”

“Proto,” Gudao said, not looking back at them, “If you’re injured, either let me or Jack look at it.”

Proto threw up his hands. “Fine. She can look at it.”

“Yay!” Jack dragged him to a stop and plunged the needle into his side. He cursed wildly, watching as Gudao and the Lion King continued without looking back. Mash did, however, sending him an apologetic glance. He could feel Hercules’ presence stop beside them. He hated splitting the party, but he, Jack, and Hercules could catch up easily enough, and hopefully Jack’s surgery wouldn’t take too long.

“I was fine.” He grumbled, ignoring the pull and tug of Jack’s needle and thread. He kept his eyes focused on the landscape around them, half hoping that more monsters would leap from the shadow. Jack was . . . good at healing, surprisingly, but she was still too eager at the sight of blood.

“Sure you were.” Jack said cheerfully. “If you’d passed out from blood loss Mommy would be angry.” Proto made a face, she kind of had a point. “So!” She yanked the thread and Proto yelped. “What happened with Fuuma?”

Proto sputtered, his cheeks flaming. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Jack giggled. “You were calling him Kotarou~”

“Don’t say it like that!” He put his hand against Jack's forehead and shoved her. She danced back, laughing. “Nothing happened.” He growled out, dragging his hand over his face. He could feel the heat of his cheek sear against his palm and he winced. “Got it, nothing.”

Jack stomped her foot. “Lying. You’re lying.”

Proto swore, “I’m not lying! And nothing happened! He just -” He flushed harder, “we’re friends.” He could barely believe the mixed feelings in his voice, delight, despair, happiness, hope, a little bit of disbelief. It was a concoction that he didn’t know how to handle.

Jack pouted at him. “Dummy.” She grumbled, stomping up to his side and finishing the stitches with hard movements. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m not being mean!” He yelped, gaping at her.

“Yes you are!” Jack jutted her bottom lip out further. “Mommy says sharing is caring and you’re not sharing!”

Proto groaned, “You’re a snitch and you’ll tell CasCu.”

Jack’s eyes widened painfully large, “I’m not! I won’t! I promise!”

Proto stepped away. “Now who's lying?” He raced off before Jack could take her revenge, feet pounding against the earth, Jack on his heels with Hercules’ presence following behind them.

The cave Romani and Da Vinci had located was small, and with Hercules and the Lion King’s horse in spirit form, it was just barely manageable. Gudao and Mash were pressed together, Mash’s face dappled red. Jack had wormed her way between Gudao and the Lion King, alternating between glaring at Proto and staring at Kotarou curiously. Proto avoided her gaze, leaning against stone beside Mash. Kotarou crouched by the entrance to the cave, it couldn’t even be called a cave really, maybe a hole if Proto was feeling generous, fingering a kunai nervously. And in the middle of them all, above the com link Gudao had placed on the floor, was Romani. 

The doctor looked frazzled, shadows under his eyes and hair disorganized, but his voice was forcefully cheerful. “Oh thank god you’re all together again. I was worried for a while.”

Gudao grinned slightly, “No need anymore. Would you like to begin or shall I?”

“I can.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “Our timeline was skewed about a bit. We should be near the end of the Sengoku period, but from what our sensors have told me, we are sometime afterward. Japan is unified, though we haven’t managed to figure -”

“Hōjō Ujinao.” Kotarou said, standing up. A bit of moonlight trickled to where he stood, silvering the strands of his red hair, highlighting his pale skin. His face was shadowed, eyes hidden by his hair, mouth hidden by his scarf. He held his kunai tightly between his fingers, and Proto ached to see him so stiff. He was like a stature, barely breathing. “Hōjō Ujinao is the one in control.”

“Really?” Da Vinci burst in, leaning into the view and shoving Romani away. “Tokugawa is supposed to be the ruling faction now.”

Romani shoved her off of him and she squawked in annoyance. “Thank you Fuuma for that bit of information.” He said, struggling with the genius, “But that just affirms what we already know. Something happened, and if Hōjō is in control, then it happened around or after the Siege of Odawa. Beyond that, there is a famine going on, shadow warriors running everywhere, and Servants under some type of faction, probably Hōjō if I am not mistaken.”

“Additionally,” Da Vinci said, shoving Romani again. This time there was a thump as the doctor hit the ground. She sat down, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “We have a bounded field that is messing with absolutely everything. We might be able to Rayshift more Servants if Mash can connect to a leyline, but they will probably be thrown off course like you all were. And if our opponent has managed to disrupt Rayshifting, then they have no doubt have guarded the leylines as well. So for now you all are on your own.”

Romani stood, rubbing his head and wincing. “We’ll try sending supplies if you do manage to secure a leyline, but I think our best bet would be to get the Grail as soon as possible. There is a high chance that Hōjō Ujinao has it, so you should probably head in his direction. Carefully, of course.” He leaned on the back of the chair, his eyes serious. “We’ll also have to keep an eye on the Servants around this area. We’ve located at least three signatures, but we can’t trust our devices at this time.”

“Oh!” Jack jerked out of her little hidey hole, waving her arm wildly. “Herc and I encountered one! She was small! And wore yellow! And had horns! And teeth!” She parodied fangs with her fingers. 

Proto crossed his arms. “Kotarou and I encountered the second. His name is Bartholomew Roberts, Rider class. He has his whole fleet parked off the coast.”

“The third is a Caster.” Kotarou said softly. “Roberts had a mirror that allowed him to see through my Presence Concealment. And the shadow’s hand mirror’s in them. I suspect that the mirrors were the ties for the spell.”

“A mirror mage and a small lady in yellow with horns.” Da Vinc murmured, “I’ll get some people on it, see what we can dig up. For now you guys need to get some rest.”

“Yes,” Romani ordered. “Gudao has been using too much mana these past few days, any more might do damage to his circuits. Both Gudao and Mash need a rest, a full night's sleep, and a meal.” His eyes flicked to Mash, worry lining his features. “I also suggest the servants either retreat to spirit form or sleep.”

Gudao nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. We’ll take the watches in pairs. Kotarou and Proto, Jack and Hercules, then the Lion King and Kotarou. Kotarou, you know this place the best, and you know the opponents we’ll be facing the best.” He smiled, “That knowledge will be useful here.”

Kotarou nodded. “Hai.” 

“Good.” Romani said. “We’ll keep in touch if anything pops up on our screens. Night.” 

Da Vinci winked, “Sweet dreams everyone~.” Then she reached out and their faces jerked out of existence.

Gudao reached over and picked up the comms link, slapping it on his wrist. He stretched. “You heard her, night time. Kotarou, do you have a couple of sleeping bags?”

“Hai.”

Proto sat in the dirt outside, rolling Gae Bolg between his fingers. They’d moved from farmland to sparse forest, trees black against the sky. The wind carried the scent of rain. Proto turned his head up to the sky. Watch was boring, it always had been. He couldn’t hope for a battle because it would wake Gudao up. The worst. But at least there was something he could do. He rolled his head around, searching for Kotarou. He couldn’t see the Assassin or feel his presence, but he still wanted to . . . talk. To be there for him. Because this was going to be like America but worse. Kotarou was most likely going to have to fight his men, the people he had done so much to keep alive, as well as himself. Proto wanted to be here for him. And he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t find him.

Finally, he spotted the Assassin, just the outlines of his form in the shadows of the trees. He didn’t seem to notice that Proto had spotted him. Proto’s gut twisted slightly.  _ “Hey, Kotarou, are you -”  _ He sighed,  _ “I’m here, you know, if you need to talk. You’re not going to be alone through this.” _

Kotarou shifted, and for a moment Proto caught the glimpse of red eyes, glowing inhumanly through the dark. Then his form disappeared, and Proto was left with nothing but his gnawing worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . .  
> Just for funs because this has totally happened at least once  
> Mordred, kicks down the door: PROTO ARE YOU READY TO SPAR?!  
> Proto, Alice and Jack: . . .  
> Mordred: . . .  
> Proto: I can explain.  
> Jack: You can’t have him, we’re playing tea party.  
> Alice: He’s the princess he can’t leave.  
> Mordred: . . .  
> Proto: . . .   
> Mordred: Fine then. *walks out and slams door behind him*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A genius (two?) and the simulation room, Fuuma overthinks things, Gudoa’s dislike of horses pops up, info gathering and then sharing, catch me laughing maniacally as I put the HURT in hurt/comfort, Kotarou might be a bit touched starved, he’ll never admit it though, and ooooohhhh what’s this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . this is a day early . . . does this mean all updates from no on will be late Wednesday night? Probably not, they'll still probably be on thursday . . . because chapters are getting longer. For reasons. ANYWAY, as always, thank you all for your comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy the chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ Kotarou stepped out of the room he was still learning to dub as his. Goosebumps rippled over his skin at the touch of the chilly Chaldean air. No, it wasn’t the Chaldean air that was chilly, it was him. His fingers ached, his veins felt as if someone had poured ice into his blood. Cold. He was cold. Cold like the life had been drained from him. _

_ Perhaps he should not try sleeping again. _

_ He slipped through Chaldea’s halls, focusing on the presences he sensed through the walls. With Gudako’s forced break, their ranks had been filling up, slowly but surely. A Greek witch with a purple cowl, who’d gone crazy later in life, killing her children when her husband left her. The split off identity of a fox spirit, gone mad with the separation. A man who had stopped a war with a single shot then died. A monster with the ability to turn anything into stone. A French spy who preferred dresses to pants, no longer tainted by madness enhancement. A saint who’d slayed a dragon, friendly with everyone who crossed his path. A Persian King, an enemy of Alexander the Great. One of the old men of the mountain. A woman known for her abundant charm. And they were just the beginning. _

_ Kotarou ran a hand over Chaldea’s walls. They had been scrubbed clean, but he could still see slight marring from Lev’s attacks. The building would always bear those marks.  _

_ Soon they would Rayshift again, not to the smaller singularities that seemed intent on cropping up each day, but to Rome. Gudako was becoming more comfortable leading. Their ranks had swelled and Chaldea’s most vital areas had been fixed. He’d already been assigned a Rayshift team. _

_ Proto was on it.  _

_ Kotarou dropped his hand and sighed. With the influx of new spirits, the Lancer had stopped accosting him at every turn. Even then, Kotarou had seen Proto often since the few days Gudako had spent . . . beating them up in card games. Yesterday the Lancer had been eagerly chatting with Georgios, something about Ireland’s scenery, Kotarou had only caught a snippet of their conversation.  _

_ Kotarou had had his Presence Concealment up. _

_ Proto had still managed to find him. He had grinned, as if excited that they could still play their little game. _

_ Kotarou shook his head and smiled faintly. Thoughts of the Lancer were more welcome than thoughts of his dream and what it meant, even if Proto . . . confused him. If confused was the word. He wasn’t sure it was. _

_ Perhaps he should go to the library and research more into the servants summoned? Darius would prove problematic if Alexander was summoned. The same went for Medea if Jason arrived. And for Medusa if Perseus came. They had to be prepared for things like that, not everyone who was summoned would agree to work with everyone else. Grudges from life could carry over to now. There had to be regulations in place, perhaps he would bring this up with Gudako tomo - _

_ CLANG. _

_ Kotarou moved, kunai in his grip, crouching and spinning around till his back was pressed against the wall. Faintly, he could hear muffled swearing. Italian, it sounded like a woman’s voice. Not an enemy then. Kotarou lowered his kunai and, after a second, dismissed it. He’d been looking for a distraction, he might as well follow this one. _

_ The sound of the swearing led him to a pair of open doors, the room beyond lit almost painfully bright. The walls had been stripped of material, leaving gaping holes full of wires and circuits behind steel beams. Da Vinci stood in a mess of wiring and metal, swearing rapidly, Italian falling off her tongue in a smooth torrent. _

_ It was nice to know what she was saying, the Throne’s knowledge of languages would be useful in the future, but the words she was saying were . . . less nice. Kotarou was not opposed to swearing, but hearing so many swear words strung together was daunting. _

_ Kotarou opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it. “Ah . . . is . . . ah . . . everything alright?” _

_ Da Vinci jumped and spun around, her eyes wide. She broke off into a beaming grin. “Fuuma! You startled me!” She winked. “The mark of a genius is their dramatic entrances and the reactions they get. Should I count you as one~?” _

_ Kotarou had no clue how to respond to that. _

_ “Ah . . . do you need help with something?” He said when the silence got too long. _

_ Da Vinci glanced around and shrugged. “Do you know anything about engineering?” _

_ “Ah . . . no.” _

_ “Wiring?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Inventing in general?” _ _   
_

_ "Ah . . . does battle strategies count?” _

_ Da Vinci broke into a laugh. “Not in this instance, they don’t. Go back to bed Kotarou, you can’t help here.” _

_ Kotarou nodded, stepping back. He wasn’t going back to bed, he couldn’t go back to bed. He didn’t want to dream again, didn’t want to feel blood coating his hands and fire playing across his skin and ash clogging his throat. So he stopped, then stepped instead and said, very quietly, “Ah . . . I could learn.” _

_ Da Vinci paused for a second, staring at him. Kotarou fidgeted under her scrutiny. It felt like she was seeing through him, past the desire to be useful and the need to be distracted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like to be seen. Finally, she nodded. “Come on in then. When I’m through with this, it will be a simulation room. Good practice for Gudako without the danger of a singularity, and it will help alleviate some of the battle hungry Heroic Spirits’ boredom.” _

_ Silently he nodded and stepped fully inside. _

Kotarou glanced into the small cave, counting the forms there as if any had managed to escape on his watch. Mash and Gudao were curled up in their sleeping bags, Jack wedged between them. Proto was closer to the entrance of the cave, leaning against the wall, legs stretched out before him, Gae Bolg by his side. He’d switched his armor out for his normal clothes again, and his arm was just far enough out of the opening of the cave that the moonlight struck a large swath of silver against his skin.

Kotarou felt something in him twist. 

It wasn’t guilt. He didn’t feel guilt. He’d never felt guilt, or at least he’d learned not to feel guilt. But . . . but he wasn’t sure if he’d handled the past day well. Proto’s glee at being told that he could use Kotarou’s name had felt . . . right. Everything else was more strained. The compliments he didn’t know how to take and certainly didn’t deserve. Proto’s promise to shower him with even more. Their quasi-argument. Their watch. Proto’s offering of being Kotarou’s . . . confidant. To help support him.

He didn’t know what to do with that, so he’d said nothing at all.

Friends were weird. Da Vinci was his friend, she’d taught him so much about her work and in repayment he found the flaws in her designs when he couldn’t sleep. Gudao was his friend, something he’d never expected from someone who was his Master. Mordred was his friend, and though he often spent time listening to the Saber’s rants while they fought fake enemies, Kotarou had never been the one ranting. He didn’t rant. Not really. Not about himself and his own problems.

He dropped his head against the stone, staring at the sleeping Lancer’s form. Like this, without the energy that characterized most of his movement, he was so tall and lanky that it was almost funny. He'd yet to grow into Cu’s bulk, as well as the thin veneer of skepticism the older Lancer had. Perhaps that was why it was hard to believe that everything Proto had told him was true. That he didn’t care about what Kotarou had done. That just answering the call was enough. It didn’t . . . it didn’t make sense. Kotarou would have suspected Proto of lying if Proto lied. But Proto didn’t lie. Kotarou had seen that over and over again. Which meant that Proto had to believe what he’d said. Delusional. Maybe Proto was delusional. 

No, that didn’t fit.

“Fuuma.” The Lion King’s inhuman voice ripped him from his thoughts. “You’re staring.”

Kotarou straightened, shaking his head even as blood rushed to his cheeks. “Ah . . . I was . . . ah . . . thinking.” About the wrong thing. It didn’t matter what Proto believed of him, whether he was delusional or not. What mattered was figuring out the identity of their opponents and resolving the singularity.

He’d have to face his own men.

Kotarou bit his lip, hard, and shoved himself away from the cave entrance. A distraction. He needed a distraction. He refused to let his mind wander down that path. “Ah . . . how is Gudao? And Mash. How have . . . how have they been holding up?”

For a while the Lion King regarded him. She’d taken her helmet off, golden hair spilling over her breastplate, green eyes uncovered. Inhuman eyes, like Proto's. But Proto’s were warmer, and it wasn’t just their color that made them so. He blinked sharply. Proto, again, cropping up in his thoughts where he had no right to belong. He had to focus.

The Lion King huffed. “You’re distracted.”

Kotarou stared at her. “How did you get food? There is a famine going on and Gudao only brought enough for breakfast and lunch.”

She cast her gaze over the forest. “I did not eat.” She said it blandly, but Kotarou knew what it cost her to say those words. She didn’t have the appetite her younger self had, but she still ate more than most could consume. “As for food, we found a farmer who was kind enough to lend us some. As payment, we destroyed the creatures attempting to eat his crops.”

Kotarou frowned. “What information did he give you?”

“Nothing.” She said softly. “We went off to destroy the monsters, and when we got back he was dead. That was our first encounter with the shadow warriors.”

Kotarou thought of Gudao and Mash, of their expressions to see that they were too late. He sighed heavily. Every death tore the two of them apart. They refused to understand that there were casualties to every struggle. It was endearing in some ways, to know that no matter what Gudao and Mash would always care about the dead left behind. It was part of who they were.

Admirable, it was admirable. And a bit foolish.

“At least they are safe.” He said softly.

The Lion King nodded, and Kotarou took that as a sign that the conversation was over. He leapt away from the cave, finding himself a hiding spot amongst the trees. He would wait here for dawn to rise. And he would refuse, for once, to think about the coming battles.

Proto, Kotarou noticed, woke up before the sun rose. The Lancer moved to the outside of the cave, armor back on, spear loose in his hand, head tilted to the sky as if in greeting. The sky was just beginning to lighten, black turning to traces of purple, but it was still enough to make his armor gleam. Kotarou leaned back against his tree, flipping a kunai over and over in his hands, careful to make sure the blade didn’t catch the light. He should apologize for yesterday, that's what friends did after all. Probably.

When he got back to Chaldea he needed to look up a book about friendships. He was starting to get more than he could handle. 

But that was a job for later, not now. He needed to focus. Kotarou closed his eyes and let his head thump against the tree’s bark. He was off the ground, nestled in the intersection of branch and trunk. It was a good hiding place, covered in shadow and allowing him a clear view of the ground below. But only soldiers would travel those paths, as well as samurai, monsters, and more of those shadow warriors. Shinobi, like those from his clan, would use the trees. If they came he would be able to intercept them, he knew their tricks, and he’d laid traps during his and Proto’s watch just in case.

Proto, who had been worried about how Kotarou would take to fighting his own men. It didn’t matter, did it? Feelings had no place here. He was Gudao’s Servant, and as long as his clan served under Hōjō he would not allow sentiment to stop him. He wasn’t sure how to explain this . . . he wasn’t even sure if he could. Or should. 

Proto caught his eyes and waved, a grin brightening his features. Kotarou couldn’t tell from this distance if that smile was strained or not, it should be, and probably was after last night. Kotarou glanced down at the paths that wove through the forest, glanced at the Lion King who still stood sentinel, then jumped down and slunk out of the tree line to Proto’s side. “Ah . . . good morning.” He mumbled, ducking his head slightly.

Proto glanced down at him, then grinned again. It was definitely a shade less than normal, an expression on his features Kotarou wasn’t sure he could name. Worry, maybe. Kotarou’s gut twisted. He hadn’t meant . . . it didn’t matter. What was done was done. At least Proto’s greeting was cheerful enough. “Good morning to you too Kotarou!”

“Ah . . . you’re up early.” He put his kunai away, linking his fingers behind his back. He tore his gaze away from Proto’s face and the expression decorating his features, and focused on the forest instead. He was still on watch. He needed to pay attention.

Proto shifted slightly. “I’m usually up early.” He waved a hand towards the sky, “I like to say hello.” He said it very softly, and Kotarou’s gaze snapped back to his face. There was embarrassment there, but also a softness that was almost surprising. His energy still hadn’t returned, but it wasn’t sleepiness on his face . . . it was something else.

Mellow. Proto looked mellow. 

Kotarou didn’t know what to do with this information. 

Proto laughed awkwardly and rubbed his hair. “You must think I’m pretty silly, don’t you?”

“No!” Kotarou yelped, his hands jerking up slightly. “Your . . . ah . . . father is Lugh . . . ah . . . right? It . . . ah . . . I think it’s nice that you wake up to say hello.” Sweet. It was sweet. He bit his lip and looked away, staring at the ground. 

“Thanks.” Proto gulped. Kotarou refused to look at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the tree line. “Do you like sunrises?” the words were blurted out in a rush, as if Proto hadn’t meant to say them.

Kotarou hesitated, then nodded. “Hai . . . I do.”

“You two are very loud.”

Proto yelped, jumping back, Gae Bolg flipping from rest to guard. Kotarou stifled the urge to do the same and looked at Jack. The other Assassin narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, as if he had done something wrong. “Ah . . . my apologies.”

“Yeah,” Proto grumbled, “sorry.”

Jack pursed her lips and nodded. “Good. As long as you didn’t wake Mommy.”

“I’ve been awake for hours,” came a bleary voice from the cave. “Didn’t want to wake Mash. Or you.”

Kotarou glanced at Proto. The sun had risen during their talk, not much, but enough to peak over the treetops and said lances of light in their direction. Proto’s face was stuck with it, tracing his features with gold, eyes burning bright with inner light, strands of hair illuminated till each shone painfully clear. His armor shone, the silver burnished a warmer color. He caught Kotarou’s gaze and grinned, then turned to the rising sun and mouthed something. 

‘Hello Father.’

Kotarou ducked his head, a small smile slipping onto his lips. Sweet, he would have never expected the word sweet to describe Proto. He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. Gudao was awake and Mash would be up soon as well. They were about to move out, He needed to stay focused on what was to come.

“If we’re going to locate Hōjō we’re going to have to find the capital.” Gudao said as they headed out. He looked better this morning, his eyes brighter and his skin less wan. The sleep and food had done him well. “Unfortunately, there’s a chance that it might have shifted locations or something. Since someone new is in control . . . we really have no clue where Hōjō is.”

Kotarou shifted slightly, walking a little bit ahead of the rest of the group. He could feel Hercules' presence, but the Berserker hadn’t made an appearance. The Lion King and Mash flanked Gudao while Jack and Proto brought up the rear. Kotarou wanted to start scouting, but this conversation came first. “Ah . . . Hōjō or his power called in Roberts when he escaped. It is possible that the woman Hercules and Jack fought was brought in as well. And if Caster is in the same area then -”

“If we locate them we locate Hōjō.” Mash burst in, adjusting her shield. Kotarou nodded, and she continued. “It might make sense that they’re leading from a defensible position as well. So they could be at Odawara Castle.”

The Lion King nodded. “It would make sense for him to stay there. Especially if he did not lose the siege.”

“Got all that Romani, Da Vinci?” Gudao asked.

“Yes,” Romani said. “We’re having a hard time locating the Servant presences, but we’ll try to narrow it down.”

“Until then,” Gudao continued, “We’ll find a village that . . .” He sighed heavily. “We’ll see if we can find anyone willing to tell us where Hōjō is located. Until we do, we’ll head in the general direction of Odawara Castle.” He hesitated, “Uh, which is where?”

“South from where you are.” Da Vinci butted in. “You have maybe a five day walk if you’re lucky. More if you’re not~”

“Oh.” Gudao said.

Proto jogged up to stand beside Mash, sending a glare behind him at Jack. Kotarou blinked at him. Proto didn’t normally interrupt planning, perhaps he had something to say about travel time? Or perhaps, judging by Jack’s pout, he was running away from a certain Assassin. “We could put you on the horse.” Proto suggested cheerfully, “And then we could race there.” 

Gudao shuddered.

“In the interest of time it might be a good idea.” Mash suggested, glancing at Gudao. “We could ride together. I’m sure there’s room.” 

Jack ran up, pulling on Gudao’s jacket. “Mommy I wanna ride the horse too!”

“I really don’t have too, do I?” Gudao protested.

“Ah . . .” Kotarou glanced awkwardly around then met Gudao’s eyes. He was desperate, but that didn’t matter. Time was of the essence “Hai . . . it might be for the best.”

Gudao didn’t wail, but it looked like it was a close call. “Hercules could carry me on his shoulders.”

Proto snorted. “You want to approach a town on the shoulders of a giant? People will scream and run away. No offense, Herc.” He grinned in the Berserker’s direction, and Kotarou was sure for a second there was a mental snort of laughter. 

“Fine.” Gudao grumbled. “I’ll get on the horse.”

“Gudao,” the Lion King said while Jack threw her arms up in glee and ran a circle around Proto, “Do not refer to Dun Stallion as just a horse.” She waved her hand and Dun Stallion appeared, snorting, his armor shining in the morning light. “Up the two of you go. You as well Jack.”

Jack squealed with delight and jumped onto the horse’s back with ease. Gudao clambered after her with Mash and Jack’s help. The Demi-Servant followed him, dismissing her shield and wrapping her arms around his waist. Kotarou shook his head at the sight. “I am off to scout.” He said.

Proto glanced at him and beamed. “Have fun.”

Gudao squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t say anything.

Kotarou smiled slightly in Proto’s direction, nodded in Gudao’s and Mash’s, and ran off.

They made progress quickly, far quicker then they would have if Gudao had walked. Gudao was lucky, everyone in this Rayshift group was exceptionally fast, so covering ground was easy. Kotarou kept to Spirit Form despite his dislike of it, it was better to scout this way, and he didn’t want to alert any enemies they might have come across. And there were enemies, ranks of the shadow warriors roaming the land, human soldiers as well, a few monsters. He reported back to Gudao, and after a little bit of deliberation, they ended up making their path around them. A battle would only delay them, and Romani was adamant about the fact that Gudao had strained his circuits too much already to risk another fight so early. Gudao had agreed.

Proto had been disappointed about that, Kotarou had watched his shoulders slump, his lips form something that could have been a pout. Kotarou had fought back a smile at the sight. Of course Proto wished for another battle so soon, it would have been unlike him to hope for peace. The mellowness from earlier had burnt away with the sun's rays, and the Lancer Kotarou saw now was the same as normal, eager, always moving, always hungering for a good fight. But somehow, the knowledge that there was that calm side to Proto even when he was awake was . . . nice.

Around midday, Kotarou returned from his scouting again. Gudao had called a break, and was stretching his limbs, wincing in pain. Mash seemed unaffected, and at some point Jack had stopped riding with them and had convinced Proto to give her a piggyback ride. She sat on his shoulders, feet kicking the air, fingers gripping his hair. Kotarou couldn’t imagine it being comfortable, she had to be doing it just to annoy Proto. And it was working, Proto looked ready to dump her. 

“Hey!” Jack called, leaning over Proto’s head, “Fuuma’s back!”

“Really?” Proto jerked his head up, twisting around. His eyes widened when he saw Kotarou and he grinned broadly. Jack poked his cheek, giggling when he swatted at her hand.

“Hai.” He nodded towards Proto and Jack, then turned to Gudao. “There’s a village a few miles from here.” He said, his voice clipped. “It is large, large enough to have a few soldiers at least. There should be information there.” He hesitated, then tilted his head. “Ah . . . do you plan on going in with all of us?”

Gudao groaned. “No. I don’t want to start a fight, not with city guards. Although no doubt a stranger asking about the capital will be strange enough to warrant notice. Think he’ll have spies?”

“Hai.” 

“Of course.” He considered for a moment, then nodded once. “Proto, Herc, the Lion King, and Jack will stay in spirit form. Yes, Proto, yes, Jack, I know you don’t like it, but you four will cause the biggest scene. Kotarou, I want you solid, and I want your Presence Concealment up. You can pass as someone from this time period, and you might be able to get more information than us. Also, I’m walking there. No more horses.” He glared at Dun Stallion and the horse glared back. The Lion King sighed with something that might have been amusement, then she and her horse disappeared. Jack nodded, then jumped off Proto's shoulders, disappearing on her way to the ground. 

Proto glanced at Kotarou.  _ “Are you going to be okay?” _

_ “Hai.”  _

He nodded.  _ “Okay, just . . . I’m here for you, okay?” _ Then he too disappeared.

Kotarou took a deep breath, then started off. “This way, Gudao.” Gudao and Mash fell into step beside him, and at his back, he could feel the steadying presence of the others. 

Town was crowded, and Kotarou wished that Gudao had given him time to pull out a disguise or three. The Fuuma clan was operating at this time, it was possible his clothes would be too distinctive, Bartholomew had certainly recognized them. Then again, Bartholomew was a Heroic Spirit with the Grail’s knowledge, and most people didn’t know the colors of his clan. Still, it itched at him, to go into town like this. A spy could report his appearance to Hōjō, and he would recognize his gear. Kotarou could only hope that wouldn’t happen.

And the people here looked like the type easily bought off by those with food and money. They were hungry, faces thin and shadowed. But more than that, they were scared. Their eyes flicked towards every corner, they hunched away from shadows and hurried to and fro as if any stop would bring destruction about their heads. It couldn’t be just a famine that caused this. There had to be more, and with the shadow warriors and soldiers and monsters around, it wasn’t hard to guess.

He’d never thought that Hōjō Ujinao had the power within him to do something like this. Although if Bartholomew was telling the truth, the decisions were not coming from him. 

Kotarou wished he had convinced Mash and Gudao to wait outside town, the two were drawing too many confused and suspicious stares, as well as more than a handful of terrified ones. But the children . . . the children were a different matter. There weren’t a lot, but a few played a game in the shadows of one house, cheerfully chatting and pushing each other. Kotarou tilted his head in their direction. “Ah . . . shall we go and talk to them?”

Gudao gave him a look. “You’re the expert information gatherer.”

Kotarou returned a blank stare. He infiltrated places and gathered information that way. He didn’t talk to children, not unless he had too. But Mash had already taken initiative, she walked over to where they played, kneeling by them and speaking to them softly in Japanese. One of the younger girls giggled. 

_ “See what you can find.”  _ Gudao said mentally,  _ “me and Mash will keep the kids company.” _

Kotarou nodded, then split off to one of the small shops. It would be a good place to start. 

People were scared of him. It was in the way their eyes shifted away from him, shoulders stiffening and step quickening. His questions were met with either stuttering silence or terrified murmurs. Finally, he gave up, moving outside of the town. They recognized his clothes, it was the only thing he could think of. They saw his clothes and knew him for what he was, a shinobi of the Fuuma clan, and it terrified them.

It had been a long time since someone was scared of him. In Chaldea it wasn’t common, not when there were so many more powerful than him, and the acts he had done in life faded away before the glory of Artoria’s reign or the bloodbath’s Jack had left in her wake. He was easy to look over, easy to ignore, and that was good, it was what he was supposed to be. Someone from the shadows, unseen, unheard, not there until needed. 

He wasn’t sure how to deal with those fearful looks anymore. It was easier to retreat, Gudao and Mash would gain more information if he wasn’t by their side. So he kept watch instead, keeping his eyes open for others from his clan or soldiers sent by Hōjō. He didn’t see anyone leave, but a spy could have escaped while he was talking, or they could be waiting until Mash and Gudao were done with their questions. He hoped the spy wouldn’t wait, it would be easier to get rid of them without Gudao watching.

He wondered what Proto would think if he saw Kotarou cut down a spy so word of their arrival wouldn’t reach Hōjō’s ears.

It didn’t matter. He would do what needed to be done. But no one ran from the village, and by the time Gudao and Mash came out, he knew he had missed his chance to catch the spy. Either they would wait until they were long gone or they had left as soon as Gudao, Mash and him had entered town. Still, he followed behind Gudao and Mash as they walked, Proto and Jack reforming to flank them. Just in case.

_ “Everyone huddle up. Hercules, come out of spirit form, I want us to look as imposing and not bandit worthy as possible.” _

Perhaps not then. 

He raced over to Gudao’s side, easing between him and Proto. They’d stepped off the road a bit, and trees shaded them on each side, a perfect place for a meeting. Kotarou didn’t trust it. He pulled out a kunai, flipping it over and over in his hands. Proto bumped his side and looked down at him, a question burning in his red eyes. Kotarou shook his head faintly, letting his gaze travel over the trees around them. Nothing obvious, not yet at least.

“Okay gang,” Gudao started, holding out his wrist so Romani’s projection was roughly in the middle of their circle, “Here’s what we learned. Japan is currently under military control. Not everyone was happy when Hōjō Ujinao took over, remnants of the other major players probably, and he took the opportunity to quell every rebellion and every potential rebellion going on.” He sucked in a deep breath. “That’s what one of the kids overheard at least.”

“Hai.” Mash nodded, fidgeting slightly. “We do know now that Hōjō Ujinao is based in Odawara Castle, so we’ve been heading in the right direction.” She glanced in Kotarou’s direction and hesitated.

“Good.” Romani said, sounding relieved. “Odawara Castle is also on the coast, so they would have a direct connection to Bartholomew.”

“There’s something else.” Mash said. She hesitated and once again glanced in Kotarou’s direction. Kotarou shifted slightly, closer to Proto’s side, his gut sinking. He knew, he knew, perhaps he’d known it since the townsfolk’s reaction, perhaps before. It was like ice in his veins, freezing his breath solid. He felt frozen, stuck to the spot. Of course, it made sense, of course -

Gudao turned to him, his blue eyes not judging, but definitely warry, as if not sure how this information would be taken. “We got something else from the kids. I don’t know whether it’s just a story or not . . . but with the way things are now, it’s likely there’s fire under the smoke. Kotarou, the kids said that Hōjō has a force led by a demon. It’s likely that . . . well . . . I think you know.”

He did. He did all too well.

“Understood, Gudao.” He stepped away from the circle. Jack and the Lion King and Herc, on the other side of their group seemed to fade away. Unimportant. What they would come to face was unimportant. He knew this day might come, he should have been ready. He wasn’t, he wasn’t ready, he just felt numb. “The people from the town recognized my gear. They were afraid.” His voice was clipped, coming from far away. He sounded like - no, he would not go there. “We should get a move on. I did not see anyone leave town and head in Odawara’s direction, but we should start moving just in case.” 

Gudao nodded. “Yeah, we should.” There was something in his voice that Kotarou didn’t like, then he swallowed and grinned. “Come on.” He started off, Mash and Jack by his side, Hercules and the Lion King behind him. 

Kotarou started to follow, but Proto grabbed his arm. His fingers were warm against Kotarou’s elbow, he could feel some of the numbness burn away. “Kotarou,” he said softly, his red eyes locked on Kotarou’s form, “I - will you be okay?”

“Hai.” Kotarou said. The word tasted like ash in his throat. He pulled himself gently from Proto’s grip and slipped into spirit form, away from his prying eyes and the worry that was misplaced. There was no need to worry. 

He would be fine. 

_ Kotarou pushed the hair from his face, claws lightly scraping on wood. He pulled the mask off, hearing the band snap in his hands. He stared at it calmly, the carved and painted wood, once beautiful and dangerous in design, now nicked with battle and spattered with blood. He wiped his thumb over the carved cheekbone, trying to wipe some of the blood away. It didn’t help, his hands were painted red, dripping onto the ground. He tossed the mask aside. It sailed through the air, landing amongst the bodies that surrounded him. So many bodies, a field of them. Some of them were soldiers, some villagers. Children, women, old men. People who should have not fought back but did anyway. He respected their courage but did not mourn their deaths. They had been necessary. This had all been necessary. _

_ He started moving, his sodden clothes sticking to his skin. There was light somewhere, illuminating the horizon, red as if there was a fire in the distance. Let it consume everything. It did not matter. He had done what he had needed to do.  _

_ He walked forwards, stepping over the bodies with care. There was no need to interrupt their peace, and he had done enough for them. He glanced down, tried to burn their faces into his memory, but they faded and mixed together, indistinguishable.  _

_ There was ash on his tongue, he couldn’t get rid of the taste of it, nor the smell of smoke and blood in his nostrils. _

_ The clothes on the bodies were changing, from armor and village wear to some kind of uniform, white and green with black pants and skirts. Sometimes the green was orange, sometimes blue, but the general design was the same. The same organization then. Had he destroyed it as well? _

_ There was a rasp, a wheezing breath that echoed painfully in the silence. Kotarou made his way towards the sound. There was a woman, lying amongst the bodies. Her uniform was different, posher, more ornate. He white hair was streaked with dirt and ash, her lips bloody, her amber eyes wide. “Assassin.” It was a croaked out thing, barely heard. _

_ Kotarou tilted his head and crouched over her. Her face was familiar, did he know her? It didn’t matter now though, did it? She would be dead soon and the names of the dead were inconsequential. _

_ “You-” _

_ He reached out and grabbed her chin, frowning slightly. He did know her from somewhere and she wasn’t dead yet. He stood, dragging her up with him. Her toes swung over the ground, her eyes fierce as he glared at him. _

_ “You did this.” _

_ “Did I?” His voice didn’t sound like his own, distant, far away as if spoken from somebody else.  _

_ She reached up and grabbed his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. “You could have stopped. You could have stopped if you’d noticed sooner. Why didn’t you notice sooner?” Her fingernails scrapped across his wrist but didn’t break skin. How could they? They were nothing but fragile human hands. Her voice was wild, rising, painful. “Why didn’t you? You could have prevented so much! So many unnecessary deaths! My de -” _

_ “They were necessary.” He interrupted. “They were all necessary.” _

_ She bared her teeth at him. The whites were smeared with blood. “And mine? Was mine necessary?” _

_ For a long moment he considered her, then finally, he answered. “I suppose that if I let you die, it must have been.” Why did that answer feel wrong? It wasn’t wrong, it couldn’t be wrong. _

_ “Monster.” She growled out, legs kicking wildly. “Monst-” _

_ SNAP. _

_ Kotarou released her. She fell against the ground, her neck twisted at an odd angle, eyes wide and unseeing. He could see the blood from his hands coating her jaw and cheek, a macabre collar around her neck. He glanced at his hands. Some of the blood had worn off. Very well, that was fine. It had been a swifter death then she had - had what? What had her name been? He didn’t - it didn’t - _

_ “Kotarou.” _

_ He jerked around, his heartbeat kicking up a notch before settling again. Gudao stood there, eyes wide, uniform ripped, blood smeared across his skin. He was staring at the woman’s body with horror in his eyes. “What did you do?” _

_ “She had a punctured lung.” He heard himself say, though he did not understand why he was explaining himself to this boy. No, he knew, he knew, right? Right? Why did it all - “I simply gave her a quicker death then the one she had already.” _

_ “You could have saved her!” He shouted, fear turned to fury. “You could have tried to help her! Instead you just killed her!” _

_ Kotarou took a step back. His foot knocked into another body. Something was rising in his throat, panic? Guilt? No. No it couldn’t be. “She was already dead.” _

_ Gudao stared at him. “No she wasn’t.” Then he was gone, as if he’d never been. _

_ Kotarou spun around as if that could possibly help him locate his Master, sodden clothes slapping against his skin. He looked down. His clothes hung in heavy folds, blood dying them darker than they had been. He could see his skin beneath the blood coating his arms, reddened with glowing threads, as if fire was peeking out through the cracks. He did not feel like he was made of fire. He felt . . . cold. _

_ Cold.  _

_ So cold. _

_ Like ice. _

_ “Kotarou.” A different voice this time, deeper with an Irish lilt. Kotarou’s breath caught in his throat, he froze, stiffening. No . . . no no no nononononononono. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to see - he turned anyway, movements stiff and puppet like.  _

_ Proto stood before him, head tilted up slightly, skin free of blood, armor unscratched. He had an odd grin on his face, gentle and warm and part of Kotarou wanted to flee. Couldn’t he see? The bodies decorated the ground around them, the woman was right there, how could he not see her? “Hey,” Proto said softly, stepping forward, and as much as Kotarou wanted to stumble back, his knees were locked in place, “It’s okay. I’m here.”  _

_ It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay. _

_ Proto took his hands in his, and numbly Kotarou watched him smear the blood from the backs. His hands were larger than Proto’s now, the skin darker, the fingernail’s black and pointed, sharp enough to draw blood. Proto didn’t seem to care, and his hands were so very warm against Kotarou’s own. “I’m here for you.” He murmured, his voice gentle, too gentle. _

_ Kotarou was frozen, stuck in place.  _

_ Proto reached up with one hand, brushing Kotarou’s cheek with his fingers. Numbly, Kotarou thought of the mask he’d thrown away. He’d done the same thing with it, but it hadn’t felt as alive against his skin. The mask hadn’t had any power, it hadn’t made Kotaoru a monster. No, he’d done that himself.  _

_ It had been necessary.  _

_ “You’re not a monster.” Proto whispered, his hand cupping Kotarou’s jaw. His eyes were impossibly gentle, the heat of his hands fighting the numbness in Kotarou’s blood. But he was wrong. Blind. A fool. Kotarou had no illusions, he knew what type of monster he became. The world around them was proof enough. _

_ He chucked, the sound was hollow. He reached out with one hand to lift Proto’s chin. “You’re foolish.” Kotarou said, his voice still distant. The ice was threading through his veins again. His breath clouded in the air between them. He twisted his hand and grabbed Proto’s wrist, fingers bending the metal of his armor and claws biting into the leather of his gloves. Proto’s eyes widened, panic filling his face, he tried to pull away, hand leaving Kotarou’s cheek to yank at Kotarou’s arm. It didn’t matter, Kotarou was faster. His hand dipped from Proto’s chin to his throat, wrapping around the smooth column of his neck. Proto fought, growling, eyes flashing with, trying to pry Kotarou away. _

_ Once upon a time he might have succeeded, but Kotarou had been weaker then. He was stronger now. _

_ “Kotarou,” He gasped out, “You don’t have to -” _

_ “But I do.” He heard the pop Proto’s neck made as it snapped, watched Proto collapse limply to the ground, blue hair spread out underneath him. Kotarou blew out a breath, watching the cloud billow in the air. That little thing within him that had been fighting had stopped now, shocked into frozen silence. Good. There was no room for indecision or sentiment on the battlefield. _

_ He snapped his fingers and watched as the bodies began to burn. _

Something touched his shoulder, hot against his skin, and Kotarou was jerked from the fire, exploding into movement. His feet tangled with someone else’s, they tripped, he rolled, kunai flashing down in an arc of silver to -

He stopped, shaking, gasping for breath.

Proto was staring up at him with wide red eyes, mouth open slightly in shock. One arm was twisted above his head, Kotarou’s wrist pinning it to the ground. Proto’s other wrist was trapped beneath Kotarou’s foot and Kotarou’s other knee pressed against the ground beside Proto’s waist. His kunai dimpled Proto’s throat, the silver bright against his pale skin. He’d stopped just in time. A few seconds later and blood would have been soaking into the ground. Proto would have been dead. Again. 

Kotarou leapt away from him, tearing himself away from Proto’s warmth, stumbling back until his back hit a tree near the edge of camp. He’d dropped his kunai. It glinted between them, shining in the dark. He could hear Gudao’s faint snores, could see the shapes of him and Mash, curled up near each other, a small lump between them that was probably Jack. Hercules and the Lion King were nowhere to be seen, but he could feel their presences. Watch. It must be their turn for watch.

Proto pushed himself up, rubbing at his throat. The nightmare flashed through Kotarou’s mind, the snapped neck, the unseeing eyes. He could still smell the burning bodies, taste the ashes upon his tongue. He was cold too, the same numb cold from his dream, but his breath wasn’t forming ice. It hadn’t done that in a long time.

He swallowed harshly, tearing his gaze away from Proto. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the taste of iron washed away the taste of ashes. It didn’t help. He needed to stop sleeping. It would be spirit form for him after tonight. “Ah . . . my apologies . . .” he mumbled, his voice barely reaching his own ears.

Proto blinked into awareness. “No! No I’m fine! You really don’t weigh anything so I wasn’t crushed! And I - you didn’t draw blood and you - it -” He slapped his hand over his mouth, color spreading across his cheeks. Finally he blurted out from between his fingers, “Are you okay? You looked like you were having a nightmare, and I . . .”

“Hai.” Kotarou blurted out. “No . . . ah . . . I didn’t . . .” He sucked in a breath. “I’m fine,” he pushed out. “I’m fine.”

Proto stepped forwards slightly. “You’re lying.” He said softly and Kotarou’s gaze jerked to his face. He had that same expression he’d had in the dream, something infinitely soft and warm, worried.

_ “I’m here for you.” _

Kotarou flinched away, his fingers spasming. He could still feel the smoothness of Proto’s throat, the warmth of his skin, could hear the pop his neck made as it broke. “I -” He cut himself off. He was in no shape to lie and get away with it. “Hai. I . . . ah . . . I had a bad dream.”

“Would you like a hug?” Proto blurted out. “I mean sometimes I or one of my other selves will get a bad dream and well, Cu has Emiya, but for the rest of us we kinda end up dogpiling the person who had a bad dream and it helps. Shit, I’m rambling. And it wouldn’t be a dogpile, just a hug! And if you don’t want one then that’s fine to!”

Proto shut up, eyes screwed shut, hands covering his face, and Kotarou felt something akin to hysterical laughter attempt to push from his throat. Perhaps this was the dream. Perhaps Proto was dead now by his hands and this was a fantasy he had constructed to keep from facing that fact. The thought sent panic burbling up in his throat. A dream. One of the two was a dream. And he preferred the reality where Proto was alive. 

“Hai.” He blurted out. 

Proto reeled back, his hands dropping, eyes wide and surprised. “You would?!” 

Kotarou nodded, staring at the kunai that lay between them. Somehow that seemed safer.

Proto coughed, “Oh . . . Ah . . . yeah. Um.” He stood there nervously, rubbing his hair, his red eyes looking anywhere but at Kotarou.

Kotarou blinked at him, some of the numbness driven away by the sight. He looked so . . . silly standing there, nervous over a hug. A hug. Kotarou swallowed hard. He . . . when was the last time he’d had a hug? He didn’t . . . he didn’t know. Before he had become Jonin of his clan at least. Were they normally this awkward? Perhaps this was a -

Warm arms, wrapping around his back and tugging Kotarou against a chest. Kotarou squeaked in shock, and Proto let go. “Sorry! Sorry! Shit, you’re cold.” 

Cold, but he wasn’t cold. It was just a figment of his imagination. But if Proto was saying that he was then . . . no. He couldn’t be. He didn’t have that skill. He wasn’t like that yet. “You’re . . . ah . . . fine. You’re fine.”

“Oh. Uh, good?” Proto sighed and wrapped his arms around him again, setting his chin on Kotarou’s head. Kotarou hesitated for a second, then worked his arms around Proto’s waist, gripping the back of his shirt. Real. This was real. Or at least it felt like it. He could feel the weave of the wool against his skin, Proto’s heat sinking into his bones. The fur from Proto’s pauldron tickled his face and the leather straps that held Proto’s armor in place didn’t feel dreamlike. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Proto smelled, oddly enough, like dogs, and something in Kotarou relaxed. This was . . . this was nice. And it helped drive the dream away. He could see why Proto had suggested it. 

“Would you like to talk?” Proto asked softly and Kotarou shook his head. “Got it. I guess we’ll just stay like this until you feel better then.”

Kotarou nodded and let the world fade away. He could hear Proto’s heartbeat, slow and soft in his ears. Real. This was real. Proto was right here, safe and not dead by his hands. He would not let that happen, no matter what, Proto would make it out of this alive. “Thank you.” He murmured, his voice muffled against Proto’s jacket.

Proto moved his head, his nose buried in Kotarou’s hair. He’d shifted his arms too, one hand had slipped beneath his scarf and was rubbing circles on the back of his neck. The motion was soothing, and a little bit more of his tension drained away. “Welcome.” Proto mumbled back, his breath rustling Kotarou’s hair.

Kotarou bit his lip, not sure whether he should move away now. How long constituted a hug? A minute? Five? He didn’t know, and he almost wanted to stay like this, in Proto’s arms. The world, what they would come to face, seemed less dangerous now. It was a fantasy, but alluring nonetheless, and Kotarou allowed himself to sink into the illusion. Just for a moment, a moment more. 

“I’m here, you know.” Proto whispered, his words shooting a flare of warmth through Kotarou’s chest. “Obviously, I don’t know everything you’ve been through. But, I know what it’s like to face friends who are also enemies. It’s happened to me more then once.”

Kotarou tightened his grip, pressing his forehead against Proto’s shirt. “Hai, I know.” He licked his lips and opened his eyes, staring at the gold and blue weave of Proto’s jacket, the dark knitting of his shirt, the worn leather of his straps and the glint of his necklace. He laughed, a bit bitterly. “I do not . . . this is what is needed. I will fight them, and if I have to, I will kill them. I am Gudao’s Servant and I will do nothing less.”

Proto arms tightened around his back. “I’m sorry.” 

Kotarou furrowed his brow. “It is not your fault.”

Proto pulled back, his hands sliding around to cup Kotarou’s face. Kotarou stopped breathing, staring into Proto earnest red eyes. “I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I am sorry that you have to go through this. And I am here for you, I will always be here for you. I promise.”

“That is a foolish promise.” Kotarou managed.

“Good,” Proto beamed down at him, “That’s the best type.”

Kotarou shook his head slightly, a laugh burbling from his throat. It was shaky, but the cold had burned away, and he felt . . . his cheeks hurt. It was very distracting. He tore his gaze away from those burning red eyes, staring at the wolf and moon necklace instead. “You,” he hesitated, then sighed, “thank you.” It was all he could think to say.

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” Proto said, his thumb stroking Kotarou’s cheekbone. The dream tried to flash through his mind, but with Proto right there with him, it’s presence was not as strong. “Are you feeling better?”

Kotarou glanced back up at him. “Hai.” He let go of Proto’s shirt and the Lancer moved his hands away. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, stepping away and fleeing from Proto’s gentle gaze and flushed face. He found a hiding spot, all tangled shadows with good views of the ground below and dropped his face into his hands, waiting for the heat in his cheeks to abate.

Footsteps sounded, echoing softly off stone walls. Firelight played over the stones, flickering then gone. A door cracked open. A shaft of light speared a dark room. “Caster.”

A rustle that might have been clothing or fur. Something caught the light, a large reflective surface, and for a second a form was shown in the polished bronze surface. Tall, with flickering flames playing off the edges. Then the mirror was spun around, a sensual voice filling the room. “Well, if it isn’t Hōjō’s pet. What do you want?”

“Your compliance.” The form stepped into the room. The door shut, flames licked the walls, lighting torches till shadows hid only in the deepest of crevices.

Caster hissed, tails flicking in annoyance. “That’s a dangerous thing. You know what I do to those I help.” Red painted lips parted to reveal sharp white teeth.

“I’m not asking for help. I have use of your mirror.” 

Caster pulled back, drawing the mirror to her chest. “Mine.” It was not a human sounding word.

“Yours. But Hōjō is yours as well, and it would do you good to support him.”

“I already have. His shadows are my work, are they not?”

“Enemies are coming, Caster. Rider reported in. Two Servants escaped his fleet, and Berserker lost two as well. Rumors of a foreign mage have reached the ears of my lord. He fears for his life.”

“Is that not what you’re here for?”

“Four Servants summoned at the same time, possibly more. A foreign mage. I know you are not an idiot Caster, you know what this means. Chaldea has come to snuff him out.”

A soft laugh. “He’s sent your men to stop them.”

“Not yet, but he will.” The figure stepped forwards, ran a finger across the mirror’s back, claw scraping against the bronze surface. “My men are ordinary men, against Servants they will fail. I require your magic to change that.”

“I am curious, pet.” A hand laid itself along the edge of the mirror, tracing the swirls of the edging. Caster spun the mirror around till the smooth surface faced the other. “What do you see in your reflection? Do you see a monster? A murderer? Or nothing at all?” 

“I see myself.”

“It must be nice to have such self assurance.” Caster murmured. “Send your men in. One by one. Once I am done you will have people strong enough to confront a Servant.” The form nodded, turned to leave. Caster’s voice lilted softly, amusement playing in the tone. “Did Bartholomew say anything else?”

“Yes. A Fuuma Jonin was among the two Servants he encountered.” The door shut, the fires went out. Caster was left in the darkness, her mirror gleaming, her slow chuckle filling the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Hug scene ™ :  
> Proto, internally: Oh fuck, oh shit, oh Lugh, what the hell do I do now????  
> Kotarou, internally: hmmm . . . this is actually . . . kind of nice?  
> Jack, who is currently faking sleep and is watching this interaction: CasCu is gonna give me so much candy when I tell him about this!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This monstrosity has absolutely EVERYTHING. We’ve got siblings being siblings, we’ve got fight scenes, we’ve got angst, we’ve got hurt/comfort, we’ve got arguments, we’ve got bi panic (holy smokes so much bi panic), we’ve got almost confessions, we’ve got even more fight scenes, more bi panic and even some nice, soft scenes as well! Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWA HA HA HA the long chapters are back! *insert maniacal laughter* Anyway, moving on. Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! Each one warms my heart! I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ “Get out of my room.” CasCu said, flipping a page in his book. _

_ Proto did not get out of his room. Instead he ran forwards and flopped onto the bed beside his older self. The mattress was nice and bouncy, and CasCu yelped as it tossed him up a couple of inches. “I,” Proto declared, grabbing CasCu’s book and throwing it onto the bedside table, “am here on Gudao’s behalf.” By Lugh wasn’t that a weird thing to say, Gudao instead of Gudako. Eh, he’d get used to it eventually. “He wants you to stop flirting with Emiya.” _

_ CasCu scowled at him. “Emiya’s my boyfriend. I can flirt with him if I want too.” _

_ Proto groaned. “Emiya’s not your boyfriend, he’s other Lancer me’s boyfriend. It’s getting weird to be on rotation with him when you won’t stop hitting on him.” CasCu opened his mouth to argue, but Proto was on the attack now. This had been bugging him for a while, it was time to bring it out into the light. “Besides, didn’t you have a thing with the other Archer, the one from Fuyuki?” _

_ CasCu gaped at him. “ARCHER?! HIM?! NO! Absolutely not! That’s disgusting. I’m horrified that you would even insinuate such a thing. Give me my book back.” _

_ “Wow, I can’t believe could I grow into such a liar.” Proto said dryly, batting away CasCu’s hands as he tried to reach for the book. “Fuyuki Archer and Emiya are kind of the same dude. You can’t flirt with one and say having a relationship with the other is disgusting. Make up your mind.” _

_ CasCu narrowed his eyes and stopped trying to grab his book. He crossed his arms, glaring down at Proto. “And what would you know? You haven’t been through a third of the stuff I have buddy, you are pathetically uniformed about the feelings people can have.” _

_ Proto bristled slightly. “Heh! Me and Emer hit it on! And so did Ferdiad and I!” _

_ CasCu raised one thin eyebrow. “Yes, you did, didn’t you? Congratulations. Your perceived notions on romance must be expert.” _

_ Proto growled, shoving CasCu off the bed. The Caster yelped as he hit the floor, and Proto leaned over the bed to glare at him. “You’re such a filthy hypocrite!” He burst out, “I can’t believe I could turn into someone like you!” _

_ “Hypocrite?” CasCu made an affronted noise. “I’m not a hypocrite!” _

_ “Oh yeah?” Proto bared his teeth in his older self’s direction. “How about those dreams you keep on sharing, huh? The ones were you and Archer are all buddy buddy sharing the same library and snu -” _ _   
_

_ "SHUT UP BRAT!” CasCu rocketed to his feet. “You know nothing of what happened there. Do you understand me? Nothing.” His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning furiously, and Proto yanked back at the sight. Shit. He’d hit a nerve. _

_ But he wasn’t going to back down.  _

_ “Yeah, well Emiya ain’t exactly him! You can’t treat them the same!” _

_ CasCu took a deep breath and reached back to smooth down his hair. “I’m not treating them the same. Archer was an annoying asshole who I entered an uneasy alliance with. Emiya is a hunk of a man who is more importantly on my side.” _

_ "And he’s also in love with a version of us which is not you!” Proto shot back. “Can’t you just let it go?” _

_ Something shaded CasCu’s eyes. “No, brat. I can’t.” Then he smirked. “Just like I can’t let go of other things.”  _

_ Proto recolied. “What other things? We aren’t talking about other things.” _

_ CasCu’s smirk grew. “Yes, we’re talking about the person you’re totally crushing on.” _

_ Something in Proto’s gut sank. “I’m not crushing on anyone?” _

_ “Let us examine the evidence,” of which there was none. CasCu, however, ignored that simple fact. He began pacing around the room, counting off on his fingers. “One, whenever your Rotation comes around, you get eager.” _

_ “Because I’m getting a fight, why wouldn’t I be eager?” _

_ “Two, Emiya is on your Rayshift.” _

_ Proto sputtered, “Please, I’m not into him! He’s way too old for me!” _

_ CasCu rolled his eyes. “Three, you are incapable of hiding your blushes. See, you’re embarrassed right now.” _

_ “That’s because this is embarrassing!” _

_ “If you had nothing to hide, then you wouldn’t be embarrassed.” CasCu shot back at him. “Four -” _

_ "That’s enough.” Proto blurted, shoving himself off CasCu’s bed and heading to the door. “I might not be able to convince you that you’re living in denial, but I do not have to listen to you try to say my Rayshift is a date!” _

_ “I never said date.” CasCu said smugly. _

_ Proto cursed roundly at him and slammed the door, glaring at the Chaldean hallway. CasCu was stupid. Monumentally stupid. A date? A crush? He was too busy crushing his enemies to have gotten a crush on someone. And who would he even have gotten a crush on? Gudao? Mash? Fuuma? CasCu was being ridiculous, of course he was. It had been a last ditch effort to distract Proto and it had worked. _

_ Proto growled and stomped down the hallway towards his own room. CasCu was just being dumb. Obviously.  _

Proto felt like he was floating, or perhaps combusting would be the right word. He didn’t know, he didn’t know. Watch passed in a daze. He could still feel the press of Kotarou’s body against his own, the silky strands of his hair, the smell of fire and metal. He hadn’t known Kotarou smelled of fire and metal, he hadn’t known that those scents could smell so good either. Perhaps he was drunk, perhaps he was dreaming, or perhaps Kotarou had simply needed a hug. A hug. They had hugged! He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. 

Proto gave into the urge to bury his face in his hands and screamed into his palms. They had hugged. They had hugged and it had made Kotarou feel better. He had made Kotarou feel better! It was . . . he was . . . by Lugh he needed to get a grip on himself. If somebody sneaked in because he was discombobulated from a hug he would never hear the end of it. Besides, he was Cu Chulainn, he wasn’t going to explode from happiness because of a hug.

Probably not.

He hoped not.

Proto shook himself. Yes, it was a hug. Yes, Kotarou had fit nicely against him and his hair was silky and he could still feel the places where Kotarou had gripped his shirt, but it wasn’t for a good reason. He’d had a nightmare, a bad one, Proto could still see his face. The wide, panicked eyes, hair disarrayed and sticking up everywhere because of course Kotarou had adorable bed hair, no focus, he needed to focus. Not on the bed hair. Or on the way that - no, bad Proto. He was not focusing. He needed to focus.

He sucked in a harsh breath and let his hands drop. The air stung against his burning cheeks, the wind rustled through the trees. The sky was cloudy today, the rain they’d managed to outrun yesterday if he had to guess. Okay, good. He was grounded. Definitely grounded. Now, nightmare. Kotarou had had a nightmare, that was the important bit. And he hadn’t wanted to share, so it had to have been bad. Of course it had been bad. Proto could still see the wild panic in his eyes, the shock, the fear. He’d leapt off of Proto like Proto had attacked him, had flinched when Proto had tried to approach. Of course it had been bad. But . . . Kotarou had accepted the hug, had relaxed into his grip, had said that he’d felt better, so Proto had to have helped. By Lugh he hoped he had helped.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, thoughts circling over and over in his head, but when Jack shifted, he snapped out of it. He glanced at the Assassin, watching as she yawned and clambered over Gudao to head towards Proto’s side.

“What are you doing?” Proto hissed at her, “Me and Kotarou have last watch today.”

Jack considered him, blinking bleary eyes. “Your cheeks are red.”

Proto’s hand flew up to his cheeks. Nothing, no heat against his fingers. He glared down at Jack. “You little sneak.”

She bared her teeth at him in one of her slasher smiles. “Did you have a nice watch~?”

“I’m certainly not telling you.” He grumbled at her, glancing around for Kotarou. If Jack was up, Gudao and Mash would be soon to follow. 

“Proto,” Jack whined, tugging at his arm, “stop being mean. Sharing is caring.”

Proto sucked in a deep breath. “Please stop saying that like you mean it.” She kicked him, because she was a vindictive little brat like that. He swore roundly at her and grabbed his shin. “What was that for?”

Jack stuck her tongue out at him. “I saw you and Fuuma.”

Proto felt the blood drain from his face. “What?”

Jack smirked. “You woke him up. He attacked you. And then you two hugged for,” she stuck her finger on her chin and tilted her head, considering, “ten minutes.”

Panic lit in his chest and he fell to his knees, grabbing her shoulders. “Jack, Jack, please listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t tell CasCu. You can’t tell CasCu.” Because if CasCu found out about the hug, his life would be over.

Jack smirked at him. “What would you give me to not tell CasCu?”

Proto’s mind went blank. Shit, what did he have over the Assassin that CasCu didn’t. Fuck, he - “Tea party.” He blurted. “I will join you and Alice and Lily in one tea party.”

“One week of tea parties.” Jack argued, crossing her arms. “One week of tea parties and I won’t tell CasCu.” 

“Fine,” Proto winced, “One week of teaparties.”

She beamed delightedly, then skipped out of his grasp. Proto stood, casting his gaze around for Kotarou again. Where was he? He must have found a good hiding spot . . . there. That looked like a vaguely humanoid shaped patch of shadow. Someone, Jack because of course it was, giggled, breaking his concentration. “How was the hug?”   
Proto swore. “Leave it alone, it’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is.” Jack stomped her foot. “And I promised not to tell CasCu.”

Proto groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “It was nice.” He mumbled. By Lugh, he was blushing again, he had to stop blushing. 

Jack giggled again. “You look like a tomato!”

“Shut up!” He shot back at her, glancing around for that humanoid patch of shadow. It wasn’t there anymore, where was it? He could have sworn -

“GET DOWN!!!” Kotarou’s voice, rarely raised, blasted over their camp. Proto hit the ground. Jack squeaked and tossed herself back. Out of the corner of his eyes, something flashed through the air, path diverted by another dart of silver. Proto heard the brief clash of blades and an oof of pain then something impacted the ground, hard. He pushed himself up, Gae Bolg in his grip. It wasn’t needed. K otarou knelt on the chest of a black clad figure, two kunai driven into the man’s chest. Blood was pooling on the ground, soaking into the dirt. Kotarou stood and yanked his kunai out of the man with a sick sucking sound.  His eyes were covered by his hair, mouth a thin line, blood splattering his shirt and arms. “We need to wake up Gudao and Mash and get a move on, now.” His voice crackled dangerously, each word clipped and certain. “They’ll know where we are when the scout doesn’t return, we don’t have much time.”

They will, the scout, as if they both didn’t know whom the scout belonged to. Proto could see the hints of red in the shinobi’s clothing, the small streaks of grey. He’d seen many like the dead man when Kotarou used his noble phantasm.

The Fuuma clan had found them.

Mash woke up quickly, snapping to awareness. Gudao was not so quick to wake, he clung to his sleeping bag, mumbling something incoherent as the Lion King dragged him up and shoved him into Hercules’s arms. Kotarou paced nervously, fidgeting with a kunai, glancing around with something akin to panic. Proto ripped his gaze away from the Assassin and buried the urge to hug him again, forcing his eyes on the trees. He should have known that shadow from earlier wasn’t Kotarou, if he hadn’t been so unfocused - no, there wasn’t time to worry right now. They needed to get a move on.

In the distance, thunder rumbled. The sky hadn't opened up yet, but it would, he knew it would. 

“What is going on?” Mash asked, her shield forming in her grip.

“Well Fuuma found a scout and killed him.” Jack said, pouting. She was crouched low, knives in her hands, the edges of her cloak trailed against the ground.

“Yeah, the dead body's right over . . .” Proto trailed off. “Kotarou? Where’s the body? There was a body, right? Right?”

Kotarou glanced at him. “Hai, there was a body.” He glanced around nervously again. “Ah . . . we have to go. We have to go now.”

Mash nodded, glancing at Gudao. He was waking up, blue eyes blinking blearily. “Hai. Let’s start moving. Fuuma, you go first, keep a watch for more enemies.”

“Hai.” Then he was gone. 

Proto swallowed hard, staring at the spot the body had lain. This was not good. Not good at all. He summoned Gae Bolg, spun it around a couple of times, feeling the comforting weight of it against his palms. This time he would be ready, and this time he would take the kill, if only to spare Kotarou the pain from doing so.

Gudao woke up while they were running through the woods. Jack and Mash updated him on the situation, but Proto didn’t really pay attention, his gaze was focused on the trees around them, searching for any flashes of movement or glimpses of cloth. It was harder now, the sky had opened up, rain pressing against his face and running rivulets down his cheeks. It clung to his lashes, obscuring his vision, and he blinked them away. Was that a splash of blood on the ground? Or a puddle? He didn’t know, he didn’t know and his instincts were screaming, screaming at him to stop and twist around and try to locate their enemies but he couldn’t. He trusted that Kotarou was leading them to a safe place, or a place where they would have the advantage, but the urge to fight instead of run was almost overwhelming.

“Gudao!” It was Romani’s voice, wild and panicked. His face appeared, jittering in and out with Hercules’ strides. “We’ve got - surrounded - hostiles -” with a final bzzz the communication cut out.

Proto cursed wildly. Surrounded, where? He didn’t see anyone, there was no one - there! A face in the dark, pale skin darkened with mud. Gae Bolg left his fingers before thought kicked in, and the form shrieked in pain, falling back, the spear buried in their face. He held out his hand, and Gae Bolg jerked back towards him, cutting a swath through the rain. The form dissolved into black smoke.

“They’re like the shadow warriors!” He shouted over a peal of thunder. “They aren’t real!” Thank Lugh, he didn’t want to think about what might have happened if they had been. 

_ “Take a right.”  _ Kotarou’s voice filled his mind, the crackle of his voice painfully clear,  _ “There is an open space that is more advantageous to us. Either we will be able to draw them out or they will give up. But the way is blocked off, so you’ll have to break through. I will do the best I can to clear it.” _

_ “You heard him, turn right!”  _ The exhaustion in Gudao’s voice had burned away, and Hercules roared, his voice splitting the air. Jack disappeared, her giggle of delight trailing after her. Proto and the Lion King stayed by Hercules, Mash, and Gudao’s side. Hercules could not be allowed to fall, not while he held Gudao. Mash lowered her shield and charged. Proto did likewise, he could feel his sabatons dig into the slippery mud, propelling him forwards. They crashed through the trees, breaking branches as they did so. Proto caught the glimpses of half fading bodies as they ran, evidence that Jack and Kotarou had managed to create them a path. He gritted his teeth, a bubble of annoyance fluttering through his chest. This was stupid, even if they were not real, Kotarou shouldn’t have to fight his own men. 

Then they burst through the tree line, what part of the torrent that had been blocked by leaves released upon them. Visibility was nil. He could barely see Gae Bolg in his grasp. Suddenly Kotarou was there, red eyes glowing dimly through the deluge, grabbing his arm and yanking him around.  _ “Stand here, up front. Be a distraction and draw their shots. You’re fast enough to do it.”  _ For a moment Proto didn’t understand, but Kotarou was already gone, adjusting the others to how he saw fit.

He’d commanded two hundred men once upon a time, certainly he would do fine in this situation too. 

Proto spun Gae Bolg around him in a blur, he didn’t need to see to do that. Kotarou wanted a distraction? Proto would give him one. “OI YA BASTARDS!” He yelled, the words ripping from his throat. He stopped spinning Gae Bolg, crouched down with his fingers spread across the shaft, grinning in the direction of the tree line. In his mind there was a soft crackle, Kotarou speaking to the others probably. He hoped, by Lugh he hoped, that Kotaoru would be impressed with his show. “YEAH YA HEARD ME! YA TOO BUSY HIDING YA FACES TO GIVE US A PROPER FIGHT, HUH?!”

Lightning flashed across the sky, and for a split second Proto could make out the forms of those approaching, outlined in their various hidey spots. No doubt there were more of them he couldn’t see, but it was enough to focus on one. He shifted his stance, thunder booming, the sound vibrating in his bones. He pulled back, threw, Gae Bolg flying through the air to piece the shoulder of one of the hidden. It shot back to his grip, carrying it’s passenger with it, and Proto tossed the shinobi off his spear and buried the point in their throat before they could react.

He jerked up, his grin spreading painfully across his face. Despite the rain, despite the situation, his bloodlust lit, a fire burning hot in his chest. “IS THAT ALL YA GOT?! I’M CU CHULAINN! IRELAND’S CHILD OF LIGHT! AND I CAN TAKE DOWN EVERY ONE OF YA IN MY SLEEP!” He wasn’t sure if that was what had done it, but one of them snapped, an arrow whistling through the air towards him. He didn’t even have to see it, it cracked against Gae Bolg’s shaft, the wood splintering. He laughed, and then there was no more time for laughter. All he could do was dance and dodge, spin Gae Bolg in resounding circles to prevent the arrows from hitting him. He didn’t catch them all. A kunai buried in his shoulder, right below his pauldron. An arrow nicked his ear, drawing a painful slice across his cheek as it did so. But they were inconsequential. 

Someone screamed, the sound came from the woods. Faintly he heard Gudao shout in surprise, yell a command. Hercules roared in answer, and Proto almost looked back to see what was going on behind him, but he was holding the line here, he could not leave. 

He took another arrow, this time puncturing his thigh. He cried out in pain, stumbled, managed to keep to his feet. Some opportunistic asshole took the chance to close the gap, a shadow loomed in front of him, an arcing blade held above his head. Proto gritted his teeth, but he didn’t have to deal with the nuisance, Kotarou’s kusarigama wrapped around the ninja’s arms and yanked them off course. Kotarou flashed by him, opening a line of red across the other’s throat, then he was gone, the ninja fading into the rain. Proto straightened, glancing around wildly, but Kotarou’s form was lost in the pouring sheets of water. 

“BASTARDS!” He roared out again, Gae Bolg slapping away another arrow, “DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT SNIPING WILL WORK ON ME?!” He laughed, the sound drowned out by another peal of thunder. “YA ALL ARE DUMB IDIOTS AREN’T YA?! YA WOULD THINK THAT YA WOULD HAVE FIGURED OUT THAT ARROWS WON’T WORK!”

He could have sworn for a second that the whole world seemed to pause, then someone threw a kunai at his face and he broke out swearing. Seriously? He just told them arrows wouldn’t work so they just chucked a kunai at him? Lugh be damned idio - pain exploded in his side, and he cried out, blood pouring from his lips. Shit. He hadn't seen anyone approach. Fuck. He swung with Gae Bolg and a barely seen form danced back out of reach. This one seemed quicker then the others, they evaded his strikes with ease. He cursed and fell back, gasping for breath, tasting iron on his tongue. Shit, that had hurt.

“Well,” he spat out around a mouthful of blood, “Seems someone was brave enough to fight me face to face.”

The ninja moved, a blur of speed barely perceptible through the rain. He leapt backwards, Gae Bolg blocking their attacks. They danced back, switching their singular blade to kunai, throwing the two at him. He blocked, wincing one scraped against the armor of his arm. He leapt to the attack, chasing down the ninja, sabatons slipping in the mud. They kept ahead of him, deflecting every strike with their blades. He cursed and lunged, burying Gae Bolg into the mud and throwing himself forwards, his feet hit the ninja’s guard, they went sailing back, drawing a large furrow in the ground. He ran over and buried Gae Bolg into their heart before they could get up. He straightened, swiping the rain from his eyes. Dimly, he could see Hercules take down what looked to be a spriggan, could see Jack and Kotaoru rushing back to Gudao and Mash’s side. He could definitely make out the glow of the Lion King’s lance, bright through the rain.

Oh shit.

Proto took off running. Mash’s shield, he had to reach Mash and her protection, otherwise he too would be blown away by the Lion King’s attack. His feet slipped, his injured leg gave out, he cursed, fell, then Kotarou was there, wrapping hands around his forearms and yanking him behind Mash's shield.  **“** **That which heals all wounds and grudges, our glorious homeland. Manifest yourself, Lord Camelot!”** Kotarou fell backwards, dragging Proto down with him. Blue light filled the area, the walls of Camelot coalescing into reality.

Then the Lion King’s voice sang bright over the thunder and the rain, painfully clear.  **“Light, may you be released from the ends of the world. Split the heavens and tether the earth, anchor of the storm! Rhongomyniad!”**

Even behind the walls of Lord Camelot, Proto could feel the searing light of the Lion King’s noble phantasm etch into his bones. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes, feeling the shake of the ground through his hands and knees. Kotarou’s fingers were still wrapped painfully around his forearms, and Proto could hear his strained breathing, could feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own. 

The light faded, the walls of Camelot disappeared, the rain cascaded back down on them. Proto opened his eyes, blinking away the spots of light that clung to his vision. Kotarou was underneath him, hair fanning out in a rain streaked halo around his head. Blood spotted his cheek, mud was smeared against his scarf and clothes and skin, but his eyes were fierce as they peered up at Proto. Fierce and angry. Angry? Why was he - 

Kotarou released his armored wrist and grabbed Proto’s shirt, dragging him down till their noses almost touched. “Never,” he hissed, the crackle of his voice painfully present, his breath puffing over Proto’s lips, “Call my men idiots again. Do you understand me?”

Proto tried to formulate words that weren’t ‘shit that’s hot’. He ended up not speaking instead, staring numbly into Kotarou’s burning red eyes. He could see the flecks of orange in them, changing the red into something more alive. 

“Proto.” Kotarou growled, each syllable of his name said sharply.

Oh yes, a reply. A reply. He nodded jerkily, and Kotarou’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to decide that was an appropriate answer. “Good.” Then, somehow, Proto was on his back and Kotarou was up and striding away, the crackle of his voice obvious through the rain. Proto couldn’t focus, just watched him go, his clothes coated in a layer of mud. He himself had to be just as bad of a mess. Shit. Proto yanked his eyes towards the sky, blinking away the rain. His heart was going a mile a minute, the pain from his wounds faded away to a distant thing, he could still feel Kotarou’s fingers, the press of his calluses and hand wraps against his arm. By Lugh, what a morning.

Jack appeared above him, grinning her slasher smile. Her hair was darkened with rain and mud and what was probably blood but she looked happy enough. “You’re blushing.” She said playfully.

“Shut up.” Proto mumbled. 

“What did he say?”

Proto sighed, feeling a grin cross his face. “Pretty sure he just threatened me.” Shit, did he sound wistful? Fucking hell.

Jack paused for a second. “You’re weird.” 

“Shut up.” He pushed himself up, wincing as his various aches and pains clamored for awareness. 

“Oh are you injured?” Jack asked gleefully, her eyes very wide.

“Gudao.” He called, “Please tell me you can heal my wounds.”

Gudao sighed. “Yeah, I can. Come on over.” 

Proto sent a smirk at the pouting Jack, then, with a hand over the wound in his side, he limped over to Gudao. Mash held her shield up like an umbrella, and Hercules was crouched slightly as well as if to cast his own area free of rain. The Lion King stood off to the side, Rhongomyniad in her hands, watching the trees. And Kotarou . . . Kotarou had already disappeared. Proto sighed and subjected himself to the healing. Maybe he would get his chance to talk to Kotarou later.

They started out again, quiet and sullen. Gudao leaned against Mash on the Lion King’s horse, Hercules plodding behind them with Jack on his shoulders. The Lion King flanked them, her lance glowing in her grip, and Proto covered their other side, peering through the rain. They hadn’t spoken since the attack, trying to keep as much distance between them and the ones that might have survived. Or been resummoned.

Shit, he had never wanted an Archer by his side more then he had at this moment.

He dragged his sodden bangs out of his face, huffing harshly. Kotarou . . . by Lugh, he wanted to find him and talk. The Fuuma clan they were facing weren’t real, so had they died or where they . . . hell he couldn’t even think of a solution. The one he’d fought had almost been Servant level, not as bad as the Lion King’s knights but close. Could they be Servants in their own right? No, they’d been too fragile. Shit. 

He groaned and rubbed his aching head. “Gudao? Anything from Romani?”

“No,” Gudao said, “Nothing from coms either. Signal’s blocked.”

“Even the non magical one?” He blurted out.

“Hai.” Mash said, “the weather is interfering.”

“Of course it fucking is.” 

“Hey!” Jack protested, “no swearing.” 

Proto bared his teeth at her and she stuck out her tongue at him. Annoying creepy child. He turned away from her, glaring out into the darkness. Where was Kotarou? He didn’t like the idea of being separated, especially with the fact that it was the Fuuma clan out there. He would prefer to have Kotarou with him, so he could make sure that he was okay after every battle. He wanted this whole thing to be done with. A fight wasn’t fun if it was hurting someone he cared about.

_ “Gudao,”  _ Kotarou’s voice, and Proto almost jerked to a stop,  _ “Ah . . . there is . . . I . . .”  _ He fell silent, and Proto’s gut dropped.

_ “Kotarou? What’s wrong?”  _ Gudao lifted his head, pushing his hair back from his face.

For a long moment there was no reply, then Kotarou murmured very softly,  _ “Ah . . . you’ll need to make a turn here.” _

Gudao frowned,  _ “A turn? What do you mean?”  _

_ “Proto,”  _ and he nearly jumped, because from the confused look on Gudao’s face, Kotarou was speaking to him and him alone.  _ “You have to . . . please . . . I do not want him to see this.”  _ There was something in his voice, dark and bitter, that made the hairs on the back of Proto’s neck rise. 

_ “Uh yeah, I can.”  _ He stepped up to Gudao’s side, laying a hand on Dun Stallion’s flank. “Hey, Gudao, whatever’s up there probably isn’t good.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “You don’t want to see it, and Kotarou wants to spare you the sight.”

For a long moment Gudao stared at him, then he nodded. “Yeah, okay. We’ll go around. Jack, I want you to scout, can you do that for me?”   
“Yes mommy!” Jack jumped off of Hercules’ shoulders, disappearing into the rain.

“Good. Proto, go check up on Kotarou.” He lowered his voice, “I’m worried about him.”

Proto nodded, then raced off, blinking the rain from his eyes. Dread pooled in his gut, what did Kotarou not want Gudao to see? It couldn’t have been good, and, by Lugh this whole thing was a mess. The sooner it was over the better.

He knew it when he found it. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, joined with the smell of sodden wood. Proto slowed down from his run, mud splashed onto his wrappings, staining the white fabric brown. There was a body, face down in the mud, farmers clothes, darkened with blood and rain. He swallowed, then continued.

A village. It had been a village, slightly smaller than the one they had walked through yesterday. The buildings were burnt down, bodies half buried under mud and rubble. Proto swallowed hard. He had seen the dead before, both during life and the Singularities he’d walked through. He sucked in a harsh breath. The rain ran down his skin, splattered on bodies long grown cold. A day, maybe more. What had happened?

“Why are you here Proto?”

Proto jerked his gaze away from one mangled body and looked up. Kotarou was standing in one of the more structurally sound buildings, facing the walls that had only been touched by the fire, not consumed. He was holding something in his hands, but from this angle Proto could not see it. He turned, dropping the object. His hair was plastered to his face, made darker by the rain, his clothes similarly affected.

“I’m here for you.” Proto forced out. “Gudao and I, we were worried. Shit Kotarou, what happened here?”

Kotarou looked away, his voice soft. “I would suspect  Hōjō’s men, perhaps even my own. He must be using the famine as an excuse to raid villages like this to bolster the reserves in the capital. And almost everyone fights back when what is theirs is taken.”

Proto swallowed the horror and forced it down deep, striding forwards and stepping over burnt wood until he was standing in front of the Assassin. “Kotarou,” he said softly, “this wasn’t your fault.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Kotarou jerked his head up, and for a second Proto caught the wild flash of one red eye. “No, this wasn’t my fault, but a dozen more are.” He gritted his teeth, “I have seen this sight over and over before Proto, do not tell me what I already know. I work for Hōjō, and if what the village kids said was correct, then I could have been the one to do this. Most likely I was. It hasn’t been long enough for it to have been anyone else but my clan.”

“Hey,” Proto reached out, but Kotarou jerked back. He let his hand fall, balling his fists. “This wasn’t you, this was him. No you.”

“Him? He is me. He is what I become.” He jerked his hand out, gesturing sharply at the burned down buildings and bloodied bodies. “This is what I become. Can you honestly say that you do not care about what I did with this in front of you!” 

Proto opened his mouth, not sure of what to say. What could he say? That this was horrible, but it still wasn’t Kotarou? Yes, he would become this, but it wasn’t who he was now? That he had answered Gudao’s call and that was enough? Whatever it was he wanted to say, he didn’t get the chance.

Kotarou shook his head. “There is nothing to say. I know what I become, and now you know it too.” He turned away, and something in Proto broke.

He jerked forwards, hand landing on Kotarou’s shoulder. The Assassin spun around, hand wrapping around his wrist, yanking hard and twisting. Proto cursed and stumbled, then pulled back, Kotarou yelped as he was yanked forwards, and Proto used the chance to wrap his hand around his other wrist, holding him in place. “I’ve already told you I knew! I know there is a difference between war and banditry, did you think I didn’t? But the effects on the villages are the same aren’t they? They suffer. And hell, you aren’t the only one who has made mistakes. I will always choose my lord over everyone else. Ferdiad, Connla.” His voice broke and he sucked in a deep breath. “Half my legend is making mistakes, learning that fame and glory in battle isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. You aren’t the only one who regrets the shit they’ve done.”

Kotarou growled, standing up onto his tiptoes to glare Proto in the face. Proto could see his eyes, flashing brightly behind his soaked hair. “Mistakes are something that you regret! And I don’t regret choosing this path! I only . . . I only -” He gave a frustrated cry, “I made these choices. I accept them. This is who I am! A mo -”

“No.” Proto growled, “You aren’t.”

Kotarou glared up at him. “You’re being a fool.”

“Really?” He laughed, a bit wildly. “I’m being the fool here? Kotarou, am I the same as Cu?”

Surprise flashed across Kotarou’s face, breaking through the anger. He leaned back slightly. “What?”

“Am I the same as Cu? Or CasCu? Or Alter? Is Lily the same as Artoria? Or Liz Carmilla?”

“I don’t -”

“No, we aren’t.” Carefully, he loosened his grip on Kotarou’s wrist. Kotarou didn’t repeat the gesture, his fingers dug into Proto’s armor. “We are different people at different times in our lives. Otherwise there wouldn’t be more than one version of the same heroic spirit would there? I’m not the same as Cu. Nor am I the same as Alter and CasCu. Lily isn’t Artoria and Liz isn’t Carmilla. You are not him. Yeah, I make the same fucking mistakes Cu makes, but I’m not him. And yeah, you do everything he does but you are not him! You’re you. You’re Fuuma Kotarou, not the person who becomes an oni, not the one who has turned to banditry, but the one who serves his lord with all he has. The one who is polite and smart and shy and is always prepared for anything. The one who answered Gudao’s call from the very beginning. You care, not about everyone, but you do care. You are working to save the world. You see things so many others of us don’t.” He sucked in a harsh breath. “You are you, as you are now, and not who you become.”

Kotarou gaped at him, then let go of Proto’s wrist, taking a step back. He jerked his hands up, drawing his hair away from his face, revealing both eyes, burning bright through the rain. The dark slitted pupils, the flecks of orange flashing through the red. “Do you know what these are? Proof of what I become. Oni’s eyes. I can’t escape this Proto.” There was something in his voice, a barely there shake that hurt worse than the yelling. 

Proto reached out to cup Kotarou’s hands. They were trembling, or maybe it was him, he didn’t know. “Neither can I, but what I can do is press forwards anyway. We can’t change anything, but what we can do is try to make sure it doesn’t change us.”

Kotarou shook his head slightly. “Maybe for you, but you’re a good person. I . . . I am not.”

Proto sighed. “The person you are right now is, and that’s who I’m friends with, that is who I’m -” in love with. But as much as he ached to say those words, Kotarou was not looking at him, and Proto wasn’t sure he’d actually listen if he did. 

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of the rain drumming all around them and the occasional peal of thunder. Finally though, Kotarou bit his lip. “You,” He said slowly, “have an odd way of looking at things.” 

Proto forced a grin, running his thumbs under Kotarou’s fierce eyes, feeling the smoothness of his skin, turned chilly by the rain. “Yeah, so I’ve been told multiple times. CasCu has been very vocal about it.”

Kotarou made a sound that might have been a broken chuckle or possibly a stifled sob. Carefully he reached up and pulled Proto’s hand’s from his face, dragging his hair back over his eyes. “Ah . . . I do not cry.” He mumbled, “I should, but I do not. I . . .” he sighed. “I am not a good person Proto. A good person would cry.”

Proto grabbed his hands. It was all he could think to do. “Kotarou, you said only before.” He stiffened, but Proto pushed forwards. “What was that only?” 

For a moment he was silent, then he began to speak, hesitantly. “I . . . I only wish . . . that I could remember their faces.” Kotarou ducked his head. “But . . . they blur together. There are too many.” He was shaking again, and Proto swallowed hard. Fuck it. He couldn’t just stand apart when Kotarou looked so miserable. He reached out and pulled Kotarou close, wrapping his arms around his back, burying his face into his hair. Kotarou shook in his arms, his hair smelled like the smoke from the burned building around them. No wonder he smelled of fire, if this was his legacy. 

“Kotarou,” he murmured softly, “would the person you become care about the faces of the dead?”

Slowly, Kotarou shook his head.

Proto sighed. “Then there’s your answer. You are not him. Because you are here, with me, with Gudao, trying to save the world. And maybe you don’t regret the decisions you made, and maybe you don’t cry for the dead, but you do wish to remember them, and Kotarou, I think you care more than you would like to admit.”

Kotarou stiffened in his grasp, but after a moment he murmured. “Ah . . . I will think on your words.”

Proto nodded, “Yeah, okay.” He swallowed then began to pull away.

Kotarou grabbed his shirt. “Can you . . . just . . . for a moment.”

Proto sucked in a breath. “Anything.” He wrapped his arms around Kotarou once again, setting his chin on his head and staring out into the pouring rain. Kotarou still shook in his arms, his fingers buried in Proto’s shirt. By Lugh, he felt so small, and Proto couldn’t help but want to bundle him up and whisk him away from the burnt village and the stupid rain and this even stupider singularity. But he couldn’t. So he just stood there, rubbing circles into Kotarou’s back, waiting for his shaking to ease as he kept watch for any who might try to use this opportunity to strike. 

Finally, Kotarou pulled back. “Thank you.” He mumbled, his head ducked low.

Proto nodded mutely. “Like I said Kotarou, anything.” 

Kotarou shifted. “We should get back to Gudao.” Then he was gone.

Proto watched him go, then glanced around at the blood soaked mud and the burnt village and the broken bodies. How many other villages did Kotarou blame himself for? Proto wished he knew. They were Servants, stuck as they were now, their future could not change, but their outlook could. This didn’t have to be what Kotarou defined himself by. Proto swallowed hard, then took off.

By the time Proto made his way back to Gudao’s side, Kotarou had already left to continue scouting. Jack hadn’t reappeared either, but he figured any who tried to attack her would only receive scars for their trouble. He was more worried about Kotarou, he knew the Assassin could take care of himself, but . . . He sucked in a harsh breath. 

“Proto,” Gudao said, “How’s Kotarou doing?” His words were muffled, he clutched Mash’s waist, face buried in her hair. Normally the sight of Gudao’s everlasting panic at riding a horse and Mash’s violently red cheeks would have been funny, but with Kotarou’s pained face in his mind he couldn’t summon his humor. 

“I - ” he groaned and dragged his hair out of his face, “not good. I just want to get this over with.”

Gudao nodded. “Yeah, me too.” 

Traveling the rest of the day was a dismal affair. The rain did not stop, and by the time they found a spot to set up camp, Proto felt like a drowned dog. Kotarou appeared, pulling out sleeping bags and other camping supplies. Jack had appeared a while back, whining about how wet and cold she was. She was currently clinging to Gudao’s side, whimpering slightly, burying her face in his stomach. He had his arms wrapped around her back and a tired expression on his face. Mash held her shield above their heads. The rain cascaded off the metal, veiling all three behind a waterfall. Proto worked by Kotarou and the Lion King’s side, pulling up the water proof tent that Kotarou had packed away in his bag. Normally Gudao liked to sleep outside, but with a night like this . . .

Proto groaned, stepping back from the tent and wiping his face. It didn’t help. “There we go, tent set up.”

“Oh thank god.” Gudao picked up Jack and rushed inside, Mash right behind him, her shield disappearing before she dove into the tent. “Herc and Lion King take first watch! Proto and Fuuma take middle! Jack and Herc take last! Oh thank goodness this tent is warm!”

Herc appeared, his breath steaming in the cold rain. The Lion King nodded once even though Gudao could not see it. She’d put her helmet up, it gleamed wetly in the dark.

Proto rubbed the back of his head. There was no way he was going to sleep in this weather. Spirit form it was for him. He glanced around for Kotarou, but the Assassin had already disappeared. He sighed, and did likewise.

Sometime later, it was hard to tell, the Lion King and Hercules tagged out. Proto coelesed, dry for about a second before the sky dumped buckets onto him. Kotarou appeared too, pulling out his bag and reaching inside. “I . . . ah . . . here.” He pulled something out, shoving it in Proto’s direction. Proto took it numbly, staring at it. An umbrella. It was an umbrella. He opened it up, watching as the area around him cleared. 

He held it out slightly, “Want to join? It won’t be very comfortable out there in one of your hideyholes.”

Kotarou hesitated, then ducked his head. “Hai.” He slipped beside Proto, their sides pressed together, staring out into the rain.

Proto didn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Their argument still played over and over in his mind. He swallowed hard, leaned slightly against Kotarou’s side. The umbrella was between them, it would be so easy to switch it to his other hand and intertwine his fingers with Kotarou’s. Maybe, just maybe, that simple action would help Kotarou understand. He didn’t though, just closed his eyes and after a beat forced them open again. “Do you think they’ll attack?”

He didn’t have to say who ‘they’ were.

Kotarou sighed, tilting his head up slightly. “They might try, but they will not get far. I set up traps during the first watch. We’ll know if they attempt anything tonight. And . . . we proved our strength against them this morning. They lost their best chance after we survived that attack.”

Proto nudged his side. “Thanks to you.”

Kotarou shook his head. “No, thanks to you. You managed to get them to focus on you, allowing Herc and the Lion King to deal with the spriggan and Jack and I to take care of their forces. They . . . they should have been more careful.” There was a dark touch of reprimand in those last words, as if Kotarou wasn’t pleased by their performance.

“They weren’t human.” Proto said softly.

“No, they weren’t.” He shivered slightly, shifted closer to Proto’s side. “They should take the chance to move ahead of us and prepare ambushes.”

Proto nodded. “How long do we have before we reach  Odawara castle?”

“At the pace we’ve been travelling, tomorrow.” He shivered again, and Proto allowed himself to glance down at him. His arms were wrapped around his waist, his hair clung to his face and water trailed down his cheeks. His clothes hung in heavy folds, and his skin glimmered damply. He was a sorry sight, and Proto wanted to wrap him up in a giant blanket and set him beside a warm and toasty fire and make him a nice, hot drink. 

Proto switched the umbrella from one hand to the other, wrapping his arm around Kotarou’s side. Kotarou squeaked, his head jerking up, red spreading across his cheeks. Proto tried to ignore the heat that was laying claim to his own face and instead grinned down at him. “We never did finish our game of twenty questions. Are you cold, Kotarou?”

For a moment Kotarou just stared at him, then he glanced away. “Hai. I . . . ah . . . I know Heroic Spirit’s don’t feel the cold but . . . hai.”

Proto huffed slightly, switching the umbrella back to his original hand. “You should have just said something earlier you know. He turned slightly, reaching out to draw a rune on Kotarou’s chest. Algiz. For a moment the lines glowed orange before sinking into his clothes. “There we go. No more cold for you.” 

Kotarou held himself stiffly, and Proto wondered if he’d gone too far, then Kotarou made a soft, surprised noise. “Oh.” After a second, his shoulder relaxed. “I . . . thank you.”

Proto grinned at him. “No problem.” He stayed like that, pressed against Kotarou, listening to his soft breaths and the steady thrum of the rain. Slowly, Kotarou eased, until he was sinking against Proto’s side. His shivering had ended. Good. The rune had done its job. He’d have to tell CasCu.

Actually, scrap that. He wasn’t telling CasCu shit.

“Norse runes,” Kotarou said suddenly, his voice pulling Proto from his thoughts. “Why norse runes?”

“They’re quick and easy to cast in combat.” He replied. “They’re fast to draw and don’t take much mana.” Kotarou nodded in understanding, and Proto stared into the rain. “What’s your favorite type of book? I mean, I don’t really read, but horror stories are okay.”

For a long moment Kotarou was silent, his head tilted slightly to the side. “I . . . ah . . . don’t have one, I think . . .” He shrugged. “Horror stories aren’t bad I suppose.” Proto grinned at that, opening his mouth to say something, but Kotarou sent him a glare and he shut it. “Ah, how do you do it? Not . . . letting . . .” He waved his hand vaguely and then sighed.

Proto hissed through his teeth. “Well, that’s sure is a question.” Kotarou made a sound that might have been a smothered laugh or possibly a deep sigh. “I focus on the things I can change, instead of the things I can't, I guess.” He swallowed, “I’ll admit, it’s been harder the past few days. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“Thank you.” Kotarou murmured, “For . . . ah . . . getting Gudao to go around the village. I wasn't sure who else to ask. And . . . ah . . . thank you. I do not understand, but I . . . I like having you as my friend.” He pulled out a kunai and fiddled with it, flipping the blade over and over in his hands.

Proto watched him wide eyed, something stuck in his throat. He sucked in a deep breath. “Well, I like having you as a friend too.” He rubbed his hair awkwardly. “I’m gonna admit my question wasn’t so serious. I was going to ask if you rant about books the way you do movies.”

Kotarou ducked his head. “Ah . . . maybe?”

Proto couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders and chest. “I -” He gasped out, “We need to watch a horror movie together. By Lugh, I want to hear your commentary. Horror movie protags are so stupid.”

Kotarou made a surprised noise. “I . . . ah . . . well,” he coughed awkwardly, dragging some of his slightly less wet hair away from his face. “I would . . . ah . . . I would like that.” He mumbled. “After . . . ah . . . after all this is over.”

Proto almost dropped the umbrella. It did droop a bit, and he cursed as half his body got soaked through once again. “Great.” He managed after pulling the umbrella back into place and reaching up to drag his sodden bangs away from his face. “Great!” He hoped he didn’t sound too excited. Or panicked. CasCu was soooo going to kill him. “I guess we both have to make it out alive no matter what now.” He managed a grin, hoped his blush wasn’t too furious.

“Ah . . . hai.” Kotarou sent him a quick smile, and for a second Proto swore his heart just gave up beating, then the Assassin turned his gaze back towards the trees, and Proto was able to suck in a huge gasp of air. 

They stayed like that for the rest of their watch, side by side, with the rain pouring a torrent off their umbrella.

When Proto coalesced in the morning, the rain had eased up into a light drizzle. Proto barely noticed. He couldn’t concentrate, it was all too much. He and Kotarou had shared an umbrella. They were going to watch a horror movie together. He didn’t, oh Lugh what was he going to do now? It was practically a date and he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Lugh be damned . . . CasCu and Cu . . . he’d have to find a way to fend them off. And he couldn’t rely on Alter for something as big as this. Oh shit, he’d have to rent an entertainment room, CasCu was not going to let him borrow the tv, not without repayment of some type. Could the entertainment rooms even be rented? Anyone could walk in, how could he prevent CasCu and Cu from trying to collect black mail material? Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

“Proto?” Gudao’s, no Gudako today, voice broke through his circling thought. 

“Yeah!” He blurted, running his hands over his hair. “I mean what? I uh, yeah? Yeah, what’s up?”

Gudako gave him a look. Hercules had already slipped into spirit form, Jack and Kotarou were gone as well, the Lion King and Mash waited by Dun Stallian’s flank. The tent had been put up. He barely remembered helping take it down. “You okay there? You were staring into space for a second.”

Proto laughed a bit hysterically. “Okay? Yeah I’m fine. I’m fine. Totally. Yeah.” He coughed into his hand, ruthlessly fought his blush down. “We should go. You know, like go.” 

Gudako groaned, glaring at the horse. “Yeah I guess.”

The Lion King, after sending a curious glance his way, grabbed their sulking Master and placed her on Dun Stallion’s back. Mash hadn’t moved, her brows furrowed slightly.  _ “Are you okay?”  _ She asked mentally.

_ “Mash, I might have made a horrible mistake.”  _

Mash swung up onto the horse’s back, and they started off.  _ “Mistake. Define mistake.” _

Proto swallowed thickly.  _ “I might have asked Kotarou if he wanted to watch a horror movie when we got back to Chaldea and he said yes. He said yes! Shit Mash what do I do? What do I do?” _

For a long moment she was silent, then she said,  _ “Well first off, you’re getting kicked out of the hopeless crush club.” _

_ “Wait what? You can’t do that! You and Gudako had a whole night of watching horror movies before this whole mess began! You can’t kick me out for doing the same thing!" _

_ "I thought you said it was a horror movie, not movies. And you know Gudako is like that. Fuuma is not.” _

Proto debated screaming, but somehow he managed to keep it restrained.  _ “Thank you sooo much for your help Mash. That does not make any of this any better!” _

She shrugged.  _ “Why are you asking me what to do? You should be asking Cu what to do.” _

_ “Cu’s not here right now! And he’s horrible at giving advice!” _

“Mommy!” Jack’s very real voice cut through their conversation. The small Assassin appeared, skidding to a halt in front of Dun Stallion, the edges of her cloak flaring out. “Fuuma found traps! And an ambush!” She clapped her hands. “Are we going to murder them or not?”

Gudako dragged herself out of her horse based funk. She bit her lip, considering. After a few moments, she nodded, tapping the comms link. “Magical communications are still down, but now that the sky has cleared up slightly we should be able to contact Chaldea.” She waved her hand at the slightly less cloudy sky, before her fingers fell to her comms link, typing away. Mash twisted slightly, trying to see. Gudako sighed. “Not good. We’ve got about a hundred signatures still out there, give or take twenty. Kotaoru says that means a good portion got wiped out the night before, but that is still more than I would risk in an all out attack.” She sighed, tapping her leg thoughtfully.

“If they are like the shadow warriors, then they’ll have a mirror they’re connected too, right?” Mash brushed at her hair. “They don’t seem to have individual mirrors, so they must be connected to a big one, and if we find that, then we can get them all in one hit.”

Gudako jerked her head up. “Mash you’re a genius. Guys, we’re going to have a bit of fun. Ambush the ambushee’s if you will. Make as much ruckus as you can. Kotarou, I want you away from the chaos and searching for that Mirror. It might be a bit of a hike, but you’ve got the speed to cover that ground. Jack, draw me a picture of the traps.” She slid off Dun Stallion, stretching her back. “Let’s see what we can do without being foolhardy.”

Proto raced over the hill, Gae Bolg in hand, Jack’s map burned into his mind. Somewhere near him, the Assassin was choosing her targets, he didn’t know, he couldn’t sense her. He slid down the other side of the hill, his hand tracing over the grass, runes burning into the wetness beneath his finger tips. Kaunaz. Fire. It was, no matter what CasCu tried to teach him, the rune he was best at. And with kaunaz came raido, journey. Sparks spat from kaunaz’s bright light before bursting into flame. His next step blossomed fire and flames raced after his heels. Laughter bubbled up in his throat, burst through his mouth. This was a good plan. 

The grass was still wet, slick with dew and rain, but the fire devoured it anyway. Proto banked left, feet flying over the earth. According to Jack’s map, there was a hollow behind the hills on this side of the road, he’d have to block that hollow, keep them contained so Kotarou could do his job.

An arrow whizzed by him, there were a few shouts of what might have been panic or surprise. Good. He’d found them. He ran faster, spinning Gae Bolg to deflect a few more shots. A shadow appeared, silver shining in their hands, too close, almost too fast, ducking under his guard to cut a furrow across his legs. As much as he would love to fight them, he didn’t have the time. He planted Gae Bolg in the ground and leapt over them and kept running. The flames licked higher. Smoke filled the air. There was a cry of pain as Jack lunged at the shinobi. Proto continued on his path unhindered, he could see the trail of fire in front of him, blazing bright against the green hills.

A sword appeared, arching towards his head. He bent backwards, felt the rush of air against his face before he lunged forwards, Gae bolg poised to strike. The flutter of cloth, the clang of metal on metal, the silver blade slipped down the spear’s shaft. Proto let go with his non armored hand, twisting Gae Bolg to yank the blade out of the shinobi’s grip. He lunged forwards again, his spear’s tip headed for their throat, but they bent out of the way, their foot hit his chin and he stumbled back. They followed him, delivering quick punches and kicks. He weaved through their attacks, rushed forwards to tackle them to the ground. They hit it hard, and he brought Gae Bolg’s spear tip down before lunging up and resuming his run. He didn’t check to see if he finished them off. 

More were pouring out of their hollow, a mass of mostly black and grey outfits with a few dashes of red. Jack appeared in their midst, a whirlwind of flashing knives and bloodthirsty smiles. He could hear her giggle drift with the wind. He growled and threw himself forwards, just a bit farther, just a bit father, there! He skidded to a halt, the flames met, a jagged barrier around the hollow. He readied Gae Bolg and lunged into the fray with a grin stretching across his face. Gae Bolg burst through the back of one shadow, he spun around to kick another. A kunai scraped along his armor, a kusarigama wrapped around Gae Bolg. He yanked, someone went flying and he buried his fist into their face. “Having fun?”

“This is so messy!” Jack dipped under an attack, a line of red drawing across her face. She buried her knives into the gut of her target and spun around to the next.

“Says the serial killer!” He tossed back, spinning Gae Bolg in a flashing defence around him. Something solid and heavy cracked against his knuckles. He cursed as Gae Bolg dropped from his numb fingers. 

Jack made a pained noise, then disappeared in a flutter of rags and what looked to be a spray of blood. “Mele is so messy!” She protested. “Murder is much cleaner then this.”

Proto growled as somebody dropped onto his back. He grabbed their arm and yanked them off, hissing as a blade met his unprotected side. He kicked back, someone screamed. He held his other hand out and Gae Bolg jerked back into her grip. “Believe what you want!”

“Do you think Fuuma is almost done?”

For a moment, at the name Fuuma, there was a barely perceptible pause. Proto used the opportunity to kill three more, their bodies fading only to reveal more enemies. “I trust in his capabilities.”

“You’re biased!” Jack called out, leaping from the back of a shinbi, knives leaving her fingers. A few found their targets, buried into throats and backs.

Proto gritted his teeth and backed away from the renewed attack. The injury in his side had been joined by a dozen more nicks and scratches. It hurt to breathe. “No I’m not!” He called out anyway.

Jack appeared before him. The injury on her cheek had been joined by another on her forehead. Blood coated her face in a gruesome mask. “Yes you are!”

“Am not!” He kicked out at a shinobi. It was already fading, Jack must have gotten to it.

“Are too!” Jack lunged past him, dragging a runner back from the flames. The air was filled with the stench of smoke.

“Am not!” Proto growled, Gae Bolg opening a blossom of red across a chest.

“Are too!” Jack cried back, weaving through a couple of more attacks. She squawked when one blade pinned her cloak to her ground.

“Am not!” He lunged forwards, impaling the one with it’s sword raised to cut Jack in half. He didn’t reach it. It, and the others, all froze, fading away as if they’d never been. He let his guard drop, sent a glare Jack’s way. “See, I told you he’d do it.”

She crossed her arms and growled up at him. “You are so insufferable!”

“Well so are you!”

For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of flames, then they both burst out laughing.

Proto and Jack made their way painfully back to Gudako’s side. He’d ended up giving the Assassin a piggy back again, she had a nasty gash in her leg that she was busily sewing back up. His side and other various scrapes ached, the fingers on his unarmored hand throbbed, but it had been a good fight, despite his injuries. 

His fires were gone, extinguished by his runes, nothing but burnt grass left in their wake.

They crested the hill. Gudako was crouched by a kneeing Lion King, whose armor was wrent and spattered with blood. Hercules looked like he’d already been healed, bloodied, but no visible wounds. Mash looked to be uninjured, but her shield was scuffed with the marks of battle. Proto jogged up. “Oi! Everything good on your end?”

Gudako waved a vague hand in reply. It was Mash who nodded sharply. “Hai. The enemies have been eliminated.”

Proto nodded. “Good.” He reached up and dragged Jack off of him, ignoring her protests. “Stop whining you brat, your Mommy’s over there.” He glanced back at Mash. “Any sign of Kotarou?”

Jack’s giggle echoed in his mind.  _ “Someone’s worried!” _

_ “Shut up.”  _

Mash frowned, running her fingers over her shield’s edge. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” He tried to keep the note of disappointment from his voice and sketched a rune, naudiz, over his side. He felt the warmth against his skin, felt it sink below the surface. He flexed his fingers and winced. He didn’t think they were broken bu - hands, on his. Proto yelped and nearly jerked back as Kotarou appeared out of nowhere. He held Proto’s aching hand in his own, hissing softly. “Kotarou?!” 

Did his voice crack? He didn’t think it had cracked, at least he hoped not.

Someone snickered.

Kotarou glanced up at him, “It’s not broken.” He stepped away, dropping Proto’s hand and digging out his ointment. He handed it over and Proto took it numbly, then Kotarou turned from him to face Gudako. “The way ahead is clear for a bit. If we continue at this pace, we’ll have a couple more hours before we hit Odawara Castle.”

Gudako nodded, standing up. “Okay, Kotarou, we’ve got time. You know the place best, who do you think we’ll encounter?”

He hesitated, tipping his head to the side. “Berserker would be detrimental to the building’s foundations, so she will probably be outside. Robert’s noble phantasm is more useful outside, and there is water around Odawara, but . . .” He bit his lip, “There is no direct path from the ocean to the moats around Odawara. His noble phantasm is useless unless we attack from the coast, so he will most likely be located inside if he is in the vicinity. HIs strength comes from his noble phantasm, so he won’t be alone. Beyond that, Caster will be in Odawara, as well as Hōjō, his soldiers, and . . .” He stopped, glanced back at Proto, then continued. “I.”

Proto felt a lead ball drop in his gut.

Gudako frowned. “Okay. I need you to scout ahead and tell us what you see. Do it safely Kotarou.”

“Hai.” He nodded, then he was gone.

Proto bit his lip, debating whether or not to say something, but if Kotarou hadn’t listened to him in the burnt village then what were the chances of him listening now? Slim. He would try again after they got back to Chaldea.

The Lion King stood up, her armor no longer cracked and broken. Proto opened Kotarou’s tin and smeared some ointment onto his hand. It was cool against his skin, and, wordlessly, he passed it to Gudako as the Lion King summoned Dun Stallion. This time, Gudako didn’t fight, she just got on and buried her face into Mash’s back. They moved forwards silently. 

The end was coming near. 

Proto skidded to a halt, feet sliding against the grass as he stared at the force awaiting them. Ranks and ranks of shadow warrier’s, their large blades glittering in their hands. Behind them a stone wall, the shape of Odawara castle beyond barely seen. And with them was the one Jack had identified as a Berserker. A small woman, pale skin with yellow robes and blond hair, large golden eyes over red marks decorating her cheeks. Her skin was decorated with red designs, her hands dipped with the color, and two dark red horns protruded from her forehead. Proto was more worried about the massive bone sword and the fact that her hair dissolved into flames.

Kotarou had been right, Berserker had been placed outside.

“So,” Berserker proclaimed, gesturing wildly with her hand. “You have come, Chaldeans!” She giggled. “Oh how my blood is boiling!”

Gudako slid off Dun Stallion, Mash following suit. “Any way we can talk this out?” Gudako said, her voice hard.

For a moment Berserker just stared at her, then she threw back her head and burst out laughing. It was a particularly maniacal laugh, and could have rivaled Jack’s. “NO!” She pointed her sword at Gudako. “NEVER! I kill who I want, I fight who I want, I destroy what I want! And right now I want to obliterate you guys!”

Proto wondered briefly how she was convinced to guard this area, or like, follow any order, but it didn’t matter. Not right now.

“Fine.” Gudako said, “I see how this will be.” Then mentally,  _ “Jack. Do your thing.”  _

Berserker lunged forwards, the ranks of shadow warriors behind her advancing. She was a blaze of fiery light, and Mash threw herself in front of Gudako, slamming her shield down. Proto charged forwards, Hercules’s footsteps thundering against the ground, the Lion’s Kings lance gleaming brightly as she mounted her horse and charged. There was a dark shadow, eyes glowing red, bursting from the ranks of the shadow warriors, knives in hand.  **“Hell starts here. We are the fire. The Rain. The Power . . . Let the slaughter begin. Maria the Ripper!”** Jack’s voice, high and delighted. Berserker twisted, one hand growing large to cover herself, then Proto hit the ranks of the shadow warriors. He didn’t have time to watch their fight. 

If Berserker even survived Jack’s noble phantasm, that is.

A blade glided past his cheek, he slapped it away, burying Gae Bolg into the shadow’s center. The mirror shattered, he spun around, Gae Bolg a red blur around his body. Another attack slipped through his guard and sparked along the armor of his arm. Gae Bolg caught a third as it went towards his chest, snapping the blade in half. He kicked out, his foot hit the chest of one, sending it flying backwards. He lashed out with Gae Bolg, there was another crack, a shadow dissolved, a cut opened across his unarmored arm. He spun around, Gae Bolg cracking against another blade.

Someone screamed, a sound filled with rage and pain. For the briefest moment he saw Berserker, or at least he assumed it was Berserker, blaze by. She was cut up, every inch of her body covered in blood, her eyes glowing painfully golden as she moved. Jack followed her, nothing but a shadowy blur with knives and two glowing dots that might have been her eyes. Then they were gone.

Proto leaned back from a blade, the tip scraping against the band of metal across his throat. He let himself fall, lashing out with Gae Bolg, tripping the shadow’s around him. He threw himself up again, spear arching down to bury in the middle of one. He kicked at one of the ones getting up, yanking Gae Bolg out of the dirt to strike again. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the glint of a blade, then a form darted past him, all trailing red scarf and burning eyes. The shadow disappeared, and then Kotarou was gone, moved on to another target. Proto fell to defense again, spinning his spear in whirling circles, lashing out when able. It was a mess, but at least it wasn’t raining.

He grinned, wide and violent, his heart racing in his ears.

He switched Gae Bolg to a one handed grip, tracing runes into the air. Kaunaz burned bright before exploding into flame, and Proto sent it shooting out towards three of the shadows hounding him. They lit up, stumbling backwards. The flames weren’t as strong as they would have been if CasCu had made them, but it was enough to get them off his back. He turned his attention away from the burning shadows, lunging for the attack. He managed to crack two more mirrors before being forced to fall back, once again spinning a wild defense. His feet danced over the ground, he couldn’t allow himself to be surrounded, he had to have room to move. He saw an opening, planted Gae Bolg in the ground and threw himself back. His sabatons slid back on impact, he threw himself forwards, spear a blaze of red light. Three more sharp cracks echoed in the air. 

A cry, cut off painfully. Proto jerked his head around, saw Berserker falling from the air, Jack balanced on her chest. The Assassin leapt off, her cloak fluttering around her, no longer covered in shadows. Berserker disintegrated, golden motes flickering into the sky. Jack hit the ground and disappeared again. He could see Hercules, hulking over the shadows, carving a path with each swing of his axe. The Lion King was a blaze of light, Dun Stallion pushing through the throng, striking with both back and front hooves as she swung with  Rhongomyniad. He could only see Kotarou in flashes, his red scarf and hair flickering like flames as he dodged and struck.

And behind them all, Mash defended Gudako, her shield slamming into enemies and her kicks sending them flying. Gudako stood ready, amber eyes fierce as she surveyed the battlefield, fingers twitching slightly.

Proto ripped his gaze away from everything that was going on and lunged back into the fray. A good portion of the battlefield had been cleared out, there was actually room to fight now. He laughed, spinning Gae Bolg and sending a blade flying through the air. He struck, ripping through one shadow and propelling himself towards another. That one swung down, he twisted to the side as the blade impacted earth, Gae Bolg headed towards its middle, deflected by the blade of another. He leapt of the strike headed his way, rolling across the ground before using Gae Bolg to propel himself to his feet. His sabaton’s broke the guard of a third, spear tip soon cracking the mirror that held it together. He twisted, sliding against the ground, grinning wildly. The two that he’d only touched were fading, Kotarou standing just a little bit past them. His hair and scarf were still tugged by his momentum, his kunai glinted brightly in his hands. For a moment, his bright eyes met Proto’s, and he smiled faintly before disappearing again. 

Proto’s grin widened, and he raced off, spear shattering one blade to bury in the center of another shadow. There weren’t many left now, maybe four or five, but those were cleaned up easily, and finally it was just them in a battlefield marked with blades and shattered metal and scorched areas and blood.

Gudako nodded sharply, her head held high. “Well then, this is it. Hercules, open us a path.” 

The Berserker roared, running forwards. There was a crash of stone, the plume of dust and the fall of rubble. Ogawara castle and the roads that lead to it could be seen now. Proto straighted, stretching his back, ignoring his various aches and cuts. There was no time to patch himself up. Kotarou appeared again, close to Proto’s side. His shoulders were stiff, his mouth set, and after a moment, his jinburi appeared on him, flashing white and black and gold. Proto sent him a small grin, hoping that he would get the message. Hoping that it would be enough. Dread was warring with his bloodlust now, he could feel the sickness trying to fight the rush of warmth in his limbs. Then Kotarou glanced up, nodded, and disappeared. 

“Come on gang.” Gudako grinned faintly, “Into the breach.” Then she stepped forwards, Mash beside her, Hercules and the Lion King in front. Like Kotarou, Jack was nowhere to be seen, waiting for her time to strike. Proto fell into step beside Gudako, and together, they stepped past the hole in the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I played myself with Ibaraki, I thought the fight with her would be so much more convoluted but NOPE Jack’s NP ignores defense, rip the morph skill.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t say much beyond AHHHHHHHHHHHHH for the summary because of spoilers, but I can say that I was so freaking excited to write this chapter. And I have many feelings that I have to address later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! I really appreciate all of them and I hope you enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day! (Or night lol)

_ Time passed, days ticking by one after the other. Kotarou fell into a pattern. During the day he would either be in the infirmary or the library or Da Vinci’s workshop, during the night he would work through the simulator, going through battles mindlessly. He’d given up on sleep, it wasn’t necessary, and each time he tried the nightmares would come, leaving him shaking and freezing when he woke up. _

_ People were taken and added to his Rayshift group. With the influx of new Servants, Emiya retreated to the kitchens, taking up the mantle of keeping Chaldea’s more domestic qualities running. Jack, summoned just before America, was added, and so was Hercules. For a while Elizabeth joined their ranks, but she was soon replaced by Hector. Proto, however, never seemed to change. He was always there, always grinning his bloodthirsty grin.  _

_ Singularities came and went, the smaller ones that were inconsequential except for a way to gather materials, odder ones that popped up and left like whirlwinds, and the big ones, the major ones. They’d just gotten back from America yesterday. _

_ Gudao was going to do a summons today. _

_ Kotarou stood up in the command room, just out of view from the glass. He could make out the intricate summoning circle, Gudao standing in front of it in jeans and a t-shirt and Mash by his side. Behind them stood Proto and CasCu, both watching the circle apprehensively. Kotarou knew why Gudao had let them in. If the altered form of Cu Chulainn did appear and attack, they would be best to divert his attention. He had been focused on them in the singularity after all. But the chances were low. _

_ Kotarou didn’t even know why he was here. _

_ No, he knew, he just didn’t want to think about that reason. It crouched at the back of his mind, waiting patiently for it’s time to strike. CasCu’s existence, as well as Carmilla’s and Lily’s, suggested what he feared was possible. But this summoning would prove it. _

_ He hoped it would fail. _

_ Gudao stepped up to the circle and placed something in front of it. Scraggly and dark, hard to make out from this distance. He looked up and nodded, and Da Vinci with an unusually grim face started the summoning. _

_ Light, bright and painful filled the room. A band of light, then a second, then a third, then a burst of energy that towered from floor to ceiling. The light faded, spitting rainbow sparks, and something in Kotarou sank. Cu Chulainn Alter stood there in his dark, plated armor and hood, blood red marks drawn across his chest, dark blue hair trailing over his shoulder, spear in hand. _

_ Kotarou didn’t wait for him to speak. He left, slipping into spirit form despite the way it dulled his senses. He raced through the halls then stepped into his room, coalescing. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His mouth tasted sour. He knew, had known, that the same Heroic Spirit could be summoned in a different class or even at a different time. He’d known . . . but Cu Chulainn Alter had been so antagonistic, so different from Proto and CasCu that he had hoped that it would prove impossible to summon him. Because maybe, just maybe, that would mean he wouldn’t see his own face staring at him through the burning light of the summoning. Because that would mean that Gudao wouldn’t have to come face to face to what he became. _

_ Kotarou forced his breathing to slow down, forced his thoughts to stop racing. This only proved what he already knew. But he was a different case, surely. What he became wasn’t - it wasn’t - he bit his lip, moving forwards. The box was easy to find, tucked away but not completely hidden. The wood was smooth underneath his hands. The lid swung open without noise. He reached in and drew out the mask, feeling the weight in his palms. He had this. A noble phantasm, except it wasn’t because of how Chaldea’s summoning system worked. Besides, the mask had never been the one with the power. He had been the one to make those choices. He had been the one to become the oni. It was not the mask's fault. _

_ But . . . that side of his was tied to the mask, so maybe, just maybe it could not be summoned. He would not have to see his future wander Chaldea’s halls. Perhaps he would only see it in his sleep. And he would not sleep. _

_ He set the mask down and closed the lid, and put the box away. _

The streets leading up to Ogawara Castle were silent and empty, and every building Kotarou checked was devoid of residents. The Castle was a different matter entirely, he could feel the beacons of two presences. One would be Bartholomew, the other would be Caster. Kotarou would have preferred to draw Caster out, no doubt Ogawara Castle was their territory, it would be a bad idea to face them inside, but  _ he  _ would not fall for such an obvious trap. As long as Kotarou, his olderself, was part of  Hōjō’s forces, their chances of dragging Caster away from their powersource were slim.

It was coming, their confrontation, and no doubt if he was solid he’d be feeling the panic, the dread, the cold seeping into his limbs. But all he knew was the colors of Ogawara faded to grey, and the odd sensation of not existing and not knowing. It was easier to think logically like this, removed from the world and what was coming. 

He slipped inside the walls of Ogawara Castle, halls he was familiar with, so different now that he was dead and summoned and in this form. But he wasn’t dead. No, his future self still walked these halls, and Kotarou had to locate  _ him  _ before  _ he  _ pulled anything major. He found Bartholomew first, lounging in the spot  Hōjō Ujinao should have been waiting in. He leaned back on one arm, legs akimbo, gun held loosely in his hand. There was a faint smile on his face, as if eager for the fight.

_ “Roberts is inside.”  _ Kotarou sent, pulling back and going through the next few rooms.  _ “He’s in the greeting room. So far, there have been no life forms. It looks like the city was evacuated. I’m looking for Caster now.” _

_ “Got it.”  _ Gudako said sharply.  _ “Any sign of . . . him?” _

_ “Not yet.” _

He continued on. Caster would probably be in one of the upper levels, he needed too - he hit something. Hard. And for a moment he was jarred out of spirit form, landing painfully on the floor. A bounded field. There was a bounded field. Well, he’d found Caster. He slipped back into spirit form. Now to find his future self.  _ “Caster is in the higher levels. They have a bounded field up, so they are no doubt preparing something now.” _

_ “Okay, we’re coming in.” _

Kotarou would have gritted his teeth, would have protested and asked that she wait, but there was no time. He had to locate his future self.  _ He  _ was here, somewhere.  _ He  _ had to be. He threw himself through another room, racing though, taking in the corners and the hiding places where someone of  _ his  _ bulk could hide, but there was nothing. Now the panic was beginning to seep through this form, he was moving quicker, flashing through room after room. What if  _ he  _ wasn’t here? What would that mean?

Downstairs came the sound of splintering wood. Bartholomew’s voice, lilting and amused. Proto’s voice, deeper than Bartholomew’s, singing of his bloodlust. Gudako’s voice rose and fell, Mash’s as well. Someone laughed.

Kotarou stopped, jerking from spirit form to solid. His breath fluttered in his throat.

The sudden sound of gunfire. A roar of pain.

Bartholomew was too weak to take them all down alone.

He shifted into spirit form again, throwing himself towards the confrontation. How had he not seen it sooner? Of course  _ he  _ would be near Bartholomew, it was the only way to make sure the pirate wouldn’t fail. If only he hadn’t been panicking. If only he had thought this through. 

He lunged into the room, kunai in hand, coalescing as he came. Flashes. It was all he needed. Bartholomew had gotten up, his gun trained on Hercules, smoke rising from the barrel. His sword gleamed in his hand, the edge dotted with blood. Shadows were rising from the floor, man shaped, with the garb of his clan. Five had pinned the Lion King. Another three had surrounded Jack. Four more had occupied Mash and Gudako. But it was Proto who drew his attention. Proto, who stood separated from the others, his teeth bared, blazing red eyes focused on Bartholomew. Proto, smoke still rising from his spear from where he must have blocked a few of Bartholomew’s shots. Proto, unaware of the figure pulling itself front the shadows. Proto, who wasn’t strong enough to keep Gae Bolg from flying from his grip when the foot shot out and connected with his wrist. Proto, who wasn’t fast enough to duck away from the hand that wrapped around his throat. Proto, who looked so small compared to the one that lifted him off the ground with a single arm.

An entire room separated them. An entire room filled with enemies and battle. Somehow, it didn’t matter. Somehow, he was there, without recollection of his flight through the chaos. One kunai scrapped against wood, the other bit into the flesh of  _ his  _ arm, his foot impacted  _ his  _ chest, then pain blossomed across his own. Just the strike itself was enough to send him skidding back, but he had accomplished what needed to be done. Proto had been let go. The Lancer had collapsed on the floor, fingers around his throat, wheezing for breath. 

The figure, no Kotarou couldn’t think of  _ him  _ like that, had stumbled back as well.  _ His  _ tachi dripped blood, and Kotarou could feel the answering throb of pain in his chest.  _ He  _ straightened, and for a moment the world seemed to stop. It was Kotarou’s imagination, it had to be. But he couldn’t help it. He had changed too much to not categorize the differences.

The clothes were different. Gone was the jinburi, and the scarf that hung around Kotarou’s neck was tied around  _ his  _ waist instead. The wrappings on the arms were roughly the same, and so was the style of the pants and armor. The sleeveless short kimono was different, colored in charcoal and dark red. The mask on  _ his  _ face was the same as the one Kotarou had in his room in Chaldea, the painted wood, the snarling visage, but there were differences. This one was nicked and blood splattered, and had a new mark, freshly left by Kotarou’s kunai. 

It wasn’t just the clothes that had changed. He had changed as well.  _ He _ was taller by a good 58 centimeters.  _ His  _ skin was reddened, split through with painfully bright cracks, as if fire was trying to escape through.  _ His  _ hair was different, brighter than Kotarou’s own, threaded through with orange and yellows and darker reds.  _ He  _ had a horn, just one, jutting from one side of  _ his _ head, tip a darker red then the rest of  _ his  _ skin. 

_ He  _ reached up with one clawed hand and dragged the mask off  _ his  _ face. And that, for the most part, had not changed. Yes, there were tusks jutting past  _ his  _ lips. Yes, those bright cracks worked their way across  _ his _ face, spreading out at the corners of  _ his  _ mouth and eyes. Yes,  _ his  _ sclera was blackened,  _ his  _ pupils turned white. But for the most part, the shape of the face was similar, the cut of the cheek bones, the small nose, the chin. The shape of the eyes was similar to, narrowed and focused. The iris was the same blazing red.

It was a face Kotarou could see in the mirror every day if he so choose.

_ He _ breathed out something that might have been a chuckle.  _ His  _ breath hung in the air in a frosty cloud. “I thought as much when Roberts told me about the Fuuma jonin he encountered.”  _ His  _ voice was different. Louder, deeper, the crackle more pronounced, and Kotarou knew that somewhere, something was burning. “Welcome, me. I hope you are ready to lay down your life for your new Lord.”

And just like that, the world started moving again. Proto jerked to his feet, hand shooting out, Gae Bolg jerking back to his grip. The sounds of the fight filtered back to Kotarou’s ears. “Like hell!” Proto growled out. “You are not going to touch him!”

For a moment,  _ he  _ considered Proto with a bored gaze. “You will fall.”  _ He  _ said, “That is certain. But you have been persistent so far, and I am not willing to give you the chance to work your way out of this.” Flames began to flicker off the edges of  _ his  _ clothes.  _ His  _ hair burst into light, playing wildly around  _ his  _ face.  _ His  _ eyes glowed, painfully obvious against the dark scalera. “Good bye.”

_ He  _ moved. Fast as fire. Faster. 

There was no time to think, or to panic, there was only time to react. And even then, there was almost no time to react at all.

Kotarou was barely aware of switching kunai for kusarigama, the chain shot out, but  _ he  _ wasn’t there. Proto cried out, his spear twisted between him and the blade, face a mask of effort. Kotarou lunged to help, he didn’t get the chance.  _ He  _ was already gone, and one of the shadows that looked so much like the men from his clan rose from the floor. 

_ He’d _ be aiming for Gudako, it would be the best way to wipe them all out in one go.  _ “Mash! Incoming!”  _ The Shielder looked up, her violet eyes wide.  _ He  _ was already there, tachi arcing towards Gudako’s unprotected back, blazing fire in its path. A shaft of red, slicing through the air, burying in  _ his  _ shoulder. Kotarou ripped himself from his frozen state, taking his kunai to the shadow that attempted to drive their own into Proto’s neck.

“My friend!” Bartholomew called, jumping away from Hercules’s strike and shooting another line of bullets into the Berserker’s arm. “How nice of you to join.”

_ He  _ snarled faintly,  _ his  _ eyes narrowing. “Focus on your battle Roberts. I have pests I need to eliminate.”  _ He  _ moved, and suddenly  _ he  _ was there, in front of them, Gae Bolg still sticking out of  _ his  _ shoulder.

Proto might have sketched a rune, but Kotarou was already jerking into action, kusarigama back in his grasp, wrapping the chain around  _ his _ tachi. He blazed past, felt the lack of resistance, then something sharp inbedding in his back. A kunai, bigger than normal, built for hands larger than most humans. He stumbled, twisted just out of the way as  _ his  _ kusarigama slammed into the floor beside him, splintering the wood. Proto was there then, grasping Gae Bolg and yanking it out of  _ his  _ shoulder with a savage cry, going on the attack.  _ He  _ weaved through the strikes with ease, dancing around to pick up the tachi  _ he’d  _ let go off, something that might have been a touch of annoyance painted across  _ his  _ face. 

_ “Gang!”  _ Gudako’s voice, unshaken despite her close brush with death.  _ “Switching things up! Proto, take Bartholomew. Hercules, take the oni. Kotarou, get back. We need to deal with these shadows if we have any chance of getting out of here.” _

Understanding hit, he fell back, swiping his kunai across the face of a shadow that tried to follow. He could see Proto and  _ him _ , trading blows, spear and tachi spitting sparks with each strike. Hercules was moving, guiding Bartholomew to the confrontation between Proto and what Kotarou would become. The Lion King had been tagged by even more shadows, the ones she had killed created a mist around her horse. Jack was a flashing form, hounded by another group. Mash was in a similar predicament. But Gudako stood firm, her eyes blazing, command seals glowing on her hand.

Kotarou slid back, fingers brushing against the wooden floor. He could feel the mana building under his skin, an electric tingle across the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, forced the chaos of the battle away.  **“Yes, hear the agony.”** He murmured, feeling the pull and pulse in his blood.  **“The agony of hell. IMMORTAL CHAOS BRIGADE!”** The words were ripped from his throat. Immediately, he was no longer alone. The sound of shuffling cloth filled his ear, the distant crackle of flames. There was no need for speech, they knew what needed to be done.

They split, racing off to take the shadows on. Flames raced across the edges of the room before dying down, leaving scorch marks in their place. Bartholomew glanced around, eyes widening;  _ he  _ moved away from Proto’s strikes,  _ his  _ mouth pulling into a frown. It was enough time for the switch to take place. Proto ducked away from  _ him,  _ racing towards Bartholomew. Hercules lept back, crashing down beside  _ him _ , axe cleaving towards  _ his  _ chest. Jack managed to pull away from her pursuers, Dun Stallion cracked the last of the Lion King’s open while the other shadows dealt with Kotarou’s own summoned Fuuma clan. Mash stumbled back, breathing deeply,planting her shield against the ground.

_ “Good.”  _ Gudako’s voice was sharp.  _ “Lion King, blast the ceiling.” _

The Lion King raised  Rhongomyniad, the light brightening, brightening, brightening until it burst forwards and incinerated a hole in the ceiling. Somewhere above there came a shriek of shock. Bartholomew had recovered his wits, he trained his gun on Proto, his smile gone from his face. Each shot bounced off the blurred spear, and although Kotarou couldn’t see Proto’s grin, he knew the Lancer wore one. Jack appeared behind the pirate, driving her knives down. He twisted, sword batting at the blades. Proto lunged.

A roar of pain rocked through the room. Kotaoru turned, kunai leaping to his hand.  _ He  _ was pulling  _ his  _ tachi out of Hercules’s chest. The Berserker’s body was littered with cuts and burns and small gaping holes from Bartholomew’s bullets.  _ He  _ wasn’t unscathed either, but his injuries were inconsequential to Hercules’s own.  _ He  _ brought the tachi back to lop off the Berserker’s head. Kotarou was moving, kunai leaving his fingers, burying in  _ his  _ arm.  _ His  _ face twisted, flames flickering before burning bright once again.  _ He  _ moved despite the kunai, tachi aimed for Hercules’s throat. 

Hercules bent backwards, the tachi passed over his head, then he brought his axe down in an overreaching arc. It crashed against the ground because _he_ was already at Hercules’s back, tachi drawing a line across his skin. Blood splattered, then Kotarou was there, kusarigama wrapping around the tachi again, pulling the next attack back. He heard _his_ frustrated growl and Kotarou was yanked off his feet, a fist burying into his face and sending him flying backwards, the chain robbed from his grip. He hit the ground, rolled, pushed himself up in time to see Hercules’s axe cleave into _his_ side. This time, _he_ was not fast enough. This time _he_ crashed against the wall, wood splitting to allow _him_ to tumble into the room beyond. 

Bartholomew whipped his head around at the sound. Gae Bolg snapped against his wrists, gun and sword clattered to the floor. Jack’s knives protruded from the pirate’s chest. He blinked down at them, blue eyes very wide. “Is . . . this the end? Such a shame . . . I was . . . enjoying . . . myself.” Then he was gone, collapsing into golden motes before being whisked away.

Kotarou took a moment to glance around. Gudako, Mash, and the Lion King were gone. Upstairs, he could hear the sound of a struggle, but nothing except blackness showed through the gap in the ceiling. He should - no, they would be fine. He had to focus on this battle now. Because it was not over.

_ He  _ pushed  _ himself  _ to  _ his  _ feet. The flames still licked at  _ his  _ clothes and hair. Despite the gaping wound in  _ his  _ side, the kunai sticking out of  _ his _ arm, the hole in  _ his _ shoulder,  _ he  _ held  _ himself  _ as if unharmed. As if they were nothing. Kotarou swallowed hard, raised his kunai. He waited, one breath, another. Jack disappeared. Proto held Gae Bolg steady. Hercules dripped blood onto the floor. 

“Hercules,” Kotarou said softly into the silence, “Go upstairs and help Gudako. We’re good here.”

_ He  _ narrowed  _ his  _ eyes. “How confident.” In a flicker of flames,  _ he  _ was gone. Kotarou moved, his kunai clashed against the tachi, and once again he was thrown back. But it was enough. Proto lunged into the frey, Gae Bolg beating back the strikes from  _ his  _ blade. Proto’s clothes were ripped, blood coated one side of his face and painted his blue coat purple, but his eyes were fierce and bright. Hercules, with a growl, retreated. Jack popped up, her knives sweeping at  _ his  _ legs. Kotarou reclaimed his kusarigama, sent the chain spinning out, it tangled around  _ his  _ tachi,  _ he  _ twisted, eyes blazing, Gae Bolg struck  _ him  _ in the temple, Jack’s blades found their home.  _ He  _ cried out, falling back, trailing blood onto the floor. 

“Who is confident now, huh?” Proto growled out, his teeth bared in a gleaming challenge. Jack had faded away again, and Kotarou did likewise, keeping his Presence Concealment up. 

_ He  _ bared  _ his  _ teeth, blood leaking from  _ his  _ lips.  **“We are writ in blood and fire.”**

Kotarou cursed, his kusarigama shooting out, sharp edge slicing against  _ his  _ chest as  _ he  _ leaned back. Proto’s eyes widened, he pulled back Gae Bolg. Jack appeared, driving her two knives down into  _ his  _ back. 

It wasn’t enough.

**“Lives cloaked in shadow. Names forgotten. Let this be our greatest triumph!”**

The room burst into flame.

Jack, the closest to him, shrieked in pain, ducking away from the lancing sheets of fire that burst against her form. Kotarou dropped his kusarigama, lunging away from the flames that raced his way. He wasn’t fast enough, they caught on his clothes, painfully hot against his skin. Proto jerked back, one hand throwing out a rune. It blazed for a second, and the flames bent around him in a raging torrent.  _ He  _ stood in the middle of it all, unaffected by the flames, form wavering with the smoke. Jack fled the room, fire trailing her retreating figure. Proto’s runic protection shattered, he jumped back, eyes wide and pained. 

Kotarou gritted his teeth. This was enough. No more. He would not allow this anymore. He palmed to kunai and lunged at the flickering form.  _ He  _ danced back, tachi slicing the air. Kotarou twisted, the blade slipping past him to strike the floorboards. He lashed out with his kunai, one cut across  _ his  _ cheek, the other met nothing but air.  _ He  _ fell back, dropping the tachi, kunai leaping into his own hands, swiping out wildly. Kotarou felt the cuts, stinging his chest, mixing with the pain from his burns and the fire that touched his flesh. The pain was inconsequential, he grit his teeth and moved past it. He ducked under one attack, plunging his kunai into  _ his  _ leg.  _ He  _ cried out, and with the addition of Jack’s wounds  _ his  _ leg gave out,  _ he  _ crumpled to the floor. Kotarou struck, lashed out with his other kunai, drawing a line across  _ his  _ throat.  _ He  _ moved back in just time, one hand grabbed Kotarou’s wrist, the other drove  _ his  _ kunai into the junction between Kotaou’s shoulder and neck.

Kotarou cried out, white flashing across his vision. He thought he felt his wrist crack, but the sound was lost in the crackle of flames, the throb of his heart as his blood spilled from his neck, and Proto’s furious cry.  _ He _ pushed Kotarou away, and he struck the floor, gasping for breath, fighting the dark spots trying to cover his vision.  _ He  _ stood, staggered, a red spear protruding from  _ his  _ chest.  _ His  _ mouth sagged, then Proto appeared, fires caught on his clothes, eyes blazing with fury. He yanked out Gae Bolg, ignoring the spurt of blood, and ripped the tip across  _ his  _ throat.

_ He  _ fell to the floor.

Gae Bolg clattered against the wood.

Proto’s sagged to his knees. Kotarou could hear the panic in his voice, fading in and out of hearing. “Kotarou. Kotarou! Oh Lugh, oh shit, fucking hell, stay with me please.” A hand pressed against the wound, fingers traced against his skin. “Kotarou.” Proto murmured, and Kotarou blinked, trying to make out his face in the haze of smoke. He could see his eyes, burning so red, with their split pupils that were so much darker than his iris. The firelight played off his cheek bones and the line of his nose, danced in his hair, making the blue gleam gold. It was quite a nice sight, despite the coating of blood that decorated half of Proto’s face, and Kotarou wished that he didn’t have to see it in this condition.

He licked his lips. He tasted blood. “Hey.” He almost winced, it was such a stupid thing to say, but Proto’s painned grin was worth it.

“Don’t speak,” He murmured, “I’m getting you out of here. And then I’m healing you. Do you understand me Kotarou? You are not going to die from this.” There was a shake in his voice, Kotarou didn’t like it. He sounded afraid. Proto should not be afraid.

“Hai.”

Proto lifted him up carefully, one arm under his legs, the other around his shoulders. He could feel the press of Proto’s armored hand against his arm, the metal uncomfortably warm, and against his leg too, fingers spread out against his knee, touch muted by his pants. He thought of the night on Bartholomew’s ship, with Proto curled up by his side, his hand on his knee. That had been nice. This was not as nice. He let his head rest against Proto’s shoulder, and felt the metal press against his cheek. It too was warmer than what was comfortable, heated by the flames. They hadn’t faded. Shame, he’d wanted that tachi. It had been very well made.

“I’ll get it for you.” Proto gasped out, “Okay? Just stay with me. Please. JACK! JACK WHERE ARE YOU?! GUDAKO!” His voice was laced with panic. Kotarou wanted to reach out and shush him, to tell him that everything would be okay. 

Proto laughed, a strained noise. Kotarou could feel him picking his way through the flames. “Of course. Of course it will. JACK!” 

“I’m here!” A dim voice, childish in nature. “What -” 

“Can you fix him? I can help with my runes but I don’t think it will be enough.”

A beat of silence. “I can try.”

Kotarou felt himself put down. Sight was very blurry now, words running past his ears like water. The rise and fall of voices. Small hands on his shoulder. Fingers against his cheek. What might have been lips against his forehead, it was hard to tell. Something, no, a kunai, it had been a kunai, right? Whatever it was was yanked out, there was a lance of pain. Fingers, hot against his skin, tracing patterns across his neck and shoulder. Little tugs, something that might have been a needle and thread. Someone's hand on his cheek, rough with callesses. He turned his face into the touch, ignoring the spike of pain that came with the movement. His vision was tunnelling, there might have been someone stroking his hair, it was impossible to tell.

Then everything

went

dar

k.

Kotarou woke up slowly, in bits and pieces. The sheet, he assumed it was a sheet at least, was smooth and cold under his fingers. Somewhere there was a rhythmic drip, drip, drip. The air smelled . . . sterile, clean of smoke. Someone was breathing, it sounded pained. Him, was that him? Light slipped past his closed eyelids, touching the darkness with red. He wasn’t in pain, he just felt numb.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the influx of light. His vision cleared. He stared at the ceiling, a familiar one, with plain metal tiles. He sucked in a harsh breath, tasted chemicals on his tongue. Chaldea. This was Chaldea. He was at the infirmary in Chaldea. What ha -

“Good.” A no nonsense, british voice, and something in Kotarou loosened slightly. “You are awake.” Nightingale appeared in his vision, her hair pulled back, her red eyes narrowed. “Proto, Jack, and Gudako did all they could on scene, but we were worried you wouldn’t make it. Do you remember what happened?”

He licked his lips. “A fire . . . I was fighting myself . . . and . . . Proto got the final strike.” Each word hurt to say. Proto, was he okay? Kotarou remembered him being on fire, and Jack too. “How . . . long have . . . I been out?”

“Four days.” She said briskly. 

“How . . . bad?”

“Lacerations across your chest and arms. A stab wound in your back. Broken wrist. 3rd degree burns across most of your body. Major blood loss. If your other self had aimed slightly higher, you would be dead. If you weren’t a servant, you would be dead. Even then, it was a struggle. Without Proto and Jack, you wouldn’t have made it to Gudako in time.”

For a moment, he was silent, letting the information sink in. “What about . . . everyone else?”

“Jack suffered from worse burns than you, as well as minor lacerations. Proto suffered from burns as well, although not as bad as yours and Jack’s. Lacerations across his body, a bruised windpipe, sprained wrist, as well as a couple of bullet holes. The Lion King got off with a broken arm. Mash managed with a few cuts. Hercules,” she fixed Proto with her red eyes, “If you had not told him to go to the upper levels, he would have died. And it is entirely possible that Gudako would have died as well. However, she survived. She is suffering from extreme mana drain, but beyond that, she is fine.”

Kotarou closed his eyes and nodded slightly. He was drifting again. He could feel sleep tugging gently at the edges of his mind. No, he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, not with  _ his  _ blazing face in his thoughts. He forced his eyes open. “How . . . long will I . . . have . . . to stay in?”

“Preferably another week.” Nightingale said. “However, since you have been recovering well and are almost completely healed, I will let you go tomorrow, as long as you make sure to come in everyday for a check up and do not do any strenuous activity.” She glared at him. “If you refuse or do not return, I will hunt you down and lock you in here for the allotted time, as well as a couple of days to make completely sure your injuries have healed.”

He smiled weakly. “Ah . . . I understand.”

She nodded. “Good.” For a few moments, he listened as he busied herself with machinery and made notes onto her pad. Finally, she spoke again. “You have a visitor. Normally I would not let him in, but I figured after what you went through, a friend would be good to see. If you get too excited, I’ll kick him out.” 

With that, she left, leaving the scent of sanitizer in her wake. Kotarou was left wondering who his visitor was. Maybe . . . Proto? The thought sent twin jolts of discomfort and excitement shooting through him. Proto had seen what he had become, more than the villages, the actual monster. Fuuma Kotarou, in his prime. Bandit and oni. Someone who did not care about the lives he took. But, he wanted to see Proto again, to see him healthy and whole. He had vague memories of Proto’s panicked voice, fear shining in his red eyes. He wanted -

His door burst open, slammed against the wall. “Kotarou  _ what  _ the  _ actual  _ fuck?” The voice was not Proto’s, and something that might have been disappointment trickled through him. It was rough and wild, but the accent was British, and the form that appeared was much smaller than the Lancer’s. Mordred, with his tangled blond hair and red leather jacket and ripped black jeans and scowling face. “I  _ heard _ ,” the Saber hissed, slamming the door behind him, “about the whole  _ fucking  _ thing from Proto. What the absolute  _ hell  _ man? That was  _ supposed  _ to be a routine run.” He flopped down onto the plastic chair by Kotarou’s bed. It scraped violently across the floor. “What the  _ hell  _ happened?” 

Kotarou winced. “Ah . . . not so loud . . . please.”

“ _ Shit _ . Sorry.”

Kotarou sighed. “Ah . . . the Singularity's true nature was . . . hidden. It -”

Mordred waved his hands around. “I know about  _ all  _ that! I’m talking about  _ this _ .” He gestured wildly at Kotarou. 

Kotarou stared blankly at Mordred. “It is not . . . uncommon . . . for people to sustain injuries . . . while in rotation.”

Mordred scowled at him. “But  _ not  _ death’s door injuries!” He snapped. Kotarou winced and Mordred groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “ _ Shit _ Kotarou, you had everyone fucking scared. You and Hercules  _ both _ . When I saw Proto carrying you to the infirmary I thought -” He fell silent for a moment, then added. “I’m glad you pulled through.”

Kotarou smiled faintly. “Hai.”

Mordred sucked in a harsh breath. “ _ Anyway _ , if I think about the fuck  _ up  _ that singularity was, I’ll end up punching something.” He straightened, cracked his knuckles, and grinned wildly at Kotarou. “Are you ready to here about the fucking  _ chaos  _ that happened while you were out there getting yourself killed?”

Kotarou ducked his head. “Hai.”

Mordred’s distraction was welcome, and the tales of what had happened while Kotaoru was in the singularity and then in the infirmary were welcome as well. Because Mordred knew about what it was like to fear dreams, and he’d known that Kotarou would not want to sleep. So he, with wide gestures and expletives in every other sentence, regaled Kotarou with the latest chaos, keeping the night at bay. 

Karna and Arijana had destroyed one of the lesser wings of Chaldea and had been promptly forced into the Get Along shirt, an initiative Gudako had imposed before Halloween to try to lower the amount of fights around Chaldea. Achilles had ended up being nearly killed by Jalter, although Mordred would not give him all the details. Artoria had been convinced to play a video game with him and Iri, and had sorely been beaten for her troubles. Diarmuid had finally managed to bribe one of the Casters into making something for his curse. Glasses apparently. He no longer needed to wear his Band-Aids. Movie night without Gudako’s presence had gone as expected, a complete disaster. The second one, however, had been slightly more of a success. Fran was learning how to get along with Professor, although both her and Mordred were wary of the Archer’s intentions.

As for Proto, he hadn’t been seen since being let out of Nightingale’s care the day prior. Apparently he’d been abducted by his other selves. Somehow, the thought was relieving. Proto hadn’t appeared because he’d been too busy with Cu, CasCu, and Alter, not because he was suddenly scared of Kotarou. Or hated him. Or was nervous of him. Or had the crushing realization that his odd views were wrong. But there was still that anxiety, running through Kotarou’s veins. What if . . . no, it was useless to dwell on such questions. 

He forced himself to listen to Mordred’s stories, and tucked the thoughts of Proto away for a later date.

The next day Nightingale saw him to his room, red eyes focused on his back as if he would make a run for it. He didn’t. His wounds, although they didn’t hurt, twinged with every step he took. He kept the pain from his face, listened intently to Nightingale’s lecture on all the things he should not do, when she expected him in tomorrow, and what she would do if he didn’t come. Finally, he was left alone, in the hall. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

He took off his shoes, bent to pick them up and set them on the shoe rack just inside the entrance. His room was a welcome sight. He could feel some of the tension draining away. There was the futon, sheets made and wrinkle free. There was the kotatsu, waiting for him to turn the heating system on. There were the storage boxes, all neatly stacked against the walls, and the plant Gudako had given him, in the corner near his futon. But most of all, there was his weapons collection, glittering on the wall. Each blade shone. Each bit of wood gleamed. Normally, he would go over immediately, start to add what he had collected from Rotation to his stockpile. But he didn’t have anything from this recent Rayshit. 

He stepped inside, closed the door, and flicked on the lights. He padded across the room, pulling out the familiar wooden box, turning to the kotatsu and setting it gently on the surface. He sat down, pulling the blanket over his lap, and flipped the heater on. He reached out, flicked the lid open. Somehow, going through each step made him feel better, as if he was in control, like he hadn’t been in that battle.

The oni mask sat there in all it’s painted glory. The teeth were yellow white, the eyes were the same color. The rest of the mask had been painted red.

He could still see  _ his  _ face beneath the mask, painfully clear. The darkened sclera, the burning white pupils, the reddened skin, the blazing cracks. Kotarou didn’t remember changing into that, just the numbness that had come with his acts. What he had done. The deaths. Not their faces, just the blood and the fire and how it had felt. More the absence of feeling. Perhaps that was why  _ he’d  _ been so cold.  _ He’d  _ flickered like flame, had fire crawling off  _ his _ skin and hair, but when Kotarou had been punched, it had been like taking a block of ice to the face. Flames or not,  _ he  _ had no soul. And because of that,  _ he  _ was cold.

And that was why Kotarou woke up cold from every nightmare himself. 

Because he was, no matter what Proto said, the one who became the oni.

But . . . there were some truths to Proto’s words, ones that Kotarou could not brush away. Proto was not the same as his other selves. Liz wasn’t the same as Carmilla. Lily wasn’t the same as Artoria. 

_ “You are not him. Yeah, I make the same fucking mistakes Cu makes, but I’m not him. And yeah, you do everything he does but you are not him! You’re you. You’re Fuuma Kotarou, not the person who becomes an oni, not the one who has turned to banditry, but the one who serves his lord with all he has. The one who is polite and smart and shy and is always prepared for anything. The one who answered Gudao’s call from the very beginning. You care, not about everyone, but you do care. You are working to save the world. You see things so many others of us don’t. You are you, as you are now, and not who you become.” _

Now, in the silence of the room and the oni’s mask staring up at him, Proto’s words ran circles in his mind. It was such an odd way of looking at things, but so . . . Proto. Kotarou wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Proto was focused on the present. What was happening now was what was important. Perhaps it was because of those other selves that allowed him to make that separation. The past from the present. The present from the future.

Kotarou couldn’t understand it.

But at the same time, there were some kernels of truth to what Proto said.  _ He  _ wouldn’t have cared about the dead.  _ He  _ wouldn’t have nightmares wherever he closed  _ his  _ eyes.  _ He  _ had been an oni through and through.  _ He  _ would have apologized to father, but  _ he  _ wouldn’t have meant it. Because that choice had saved the clan. 

Kotarou leaned forwards and sighed, pushing the box with the mask away. He crossed his arms and buried his head into the crook of them, ignoring the twinge of pain from his wounds. He wasn’t sure he meant that apology either. It was a tricky slope. If he hadn’t taken up the mask, he would have never lost himself, would have never become an oni, would have never killed so many. If he hadn’t taken up the mask, his clan would have been wiped out, no food, no money, no chance for survival, hunted down and killed. His choice had saved them all. He would make the same one in a heartbeat.

He wasn’t guilty about the ones he had killed. Their deaths had been necessary. 

_ “And maybe you don’t regret the decisions you made, and maybe you don’t cry for the dead, but you do wish to remember them, and Kotarou, I think you care more than you would like to admit.” _

Kotarou bit his lip, swallowing hard. He lifted his head and buried it in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes, watching as the patterns played across his lids. It was calming in a way. It cleared his mind, allowed him to focus. Maybe Proto had a point. Kotarou . . . he wasn’t to  _ his  _ level yet. But he was still the person who would become that oni. But he was glad he didn’t have that noble phantasm, because that would mean he wouldn’t have to become that oni again. Did that lend credence to Proto’s argument? He didn -

His door burst open with a snap. A pink haired head poked into the room, carrying with it a wide grin. Drake. Inwardly, he groaned. Outwardly, he straightened. “Hai? Ah . . . can I help you with something?”

She grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on Fuuma, I know you were stuck in that singularity for a while but don’t tell me you forgot what day it is.” At his blank look, she groaned. “Are you shitting me Fuuma? It’s pirate’s night! Get over here before I go over there and drag you with me.”

Oh.

He’d forgotten.

Pirate night was one of the few days Kotarou found himself in the company of others involuntarily. It used to be the only day, but Mordred had decided that he had to be there for movie night, so now that night was added to his list of ‘forced interaction with others’. Movie night was . . . okay. He didn’t have to talk to people, he wasn’t the center of attention. Pirate’s night was different.

Drake kicked down the door with him in tow. She dragged him inside, gentler then she normally would have. “OI!” She cried, shoving him forwards, “I got him!”

They were in one of the entertainment rooms, briefly refurbished with barrels of ale and mugs scattered on the table. Anne and Mary had already started on the drinking. Anne was balanced on a chair, leaning back, feet tossed onto the table, right beside an empty mug. Mary was on her lap, head resting on her shoulder, a glass in her hand. She tilted her head back slightly, teal eyes unfocused. “Is that Fuuma? Welcome back. We heard bad things.”

Anne hiccuped slightly. “Yep! But you made it out in one piece! Come on, grab a drink! Blackbeard’s not here today -”

“-thankfully-”

“- so you don’t have to worry about  _ him _ .” Anne spat. “He’s locked up in his room again.”

“Good riddance!” Drake cackled, steering Kotarou to a chair and shoving him into the seat. She filled a mug, passed it to him, then filled another for herself. “So Fuuma, tell us about your adventures! I want to hear it all! The gold! The glory!” She collapsed into her own chair, blue eyes twinkling. “Come on kid, spill!”

Kotarou coughed awkwardly, spinning his cup in his hands. “Ah . . . no treasure. And . . . ah . . . no glory.”

Anne pouted. “Not even a fancy new weapon or two? You never shut up about those.” 

Mary took a sip from her drink. “Shame.” She murmured, “You always brought home such interesting swords.”

As if in consolation, Anne pressed a kiss to Mary’s forehead. The other pirate hummed contentedly, smiling softly. Something in Kotarou twanged. They looked so . . . happy while snuggled up together. For some reason Proto flitted through his mind, what it had felt like to be held in his arms. He shook that thought away. It wasn’t important. He looked down at his drink, at the condensation beading on the sides of the glass. Suddenly, he felt very alone.

“Ah . . . no.” He hesitated, then pushed forwards. “But . . . ah . . . we did meet a pirate.”

Mary shot up. Anne leaned forwards. Drake raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Kotarou ducked his head. “Ah . . . Bartholomew Roberts.”

There was a brief pause. Drake’s shoes hit the floor. “Bartholomew Roberts?” Her voice had risen in disbelief.

Anne’s mouth twisted. “He’s a good pirate but -”

“He’s questionable.” Mary shifted slightly, a frown crossing her features.

Drake collapsed into her chair again. “At least he wasn’t as bad as Blackbeard.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace and there was murmured assent all around.

“My apologies.” Mary added, “He is a terrible flirt.”

Anne wrapped her arms around Mary’s waist, drawing the other pirate closer to her chest. “And he doesn’t know not to flirt with someone who isn’t his.” Her eyes flashed, her voice was tinted with a growl. The expression on her face reminded Kotarou of Proto’s, whenever he’d looked at Bartholomew.

No. He needed to not think of Proto.

He shrugged. “He . . . ah . . . he wasn’t the only one we faced.”  _ His  _ face flashed through his mind, and he winced, fingers tightening on his drink. There was a pause as they waited for him to drop the news. He sighed. “Ah . . . A Berserker, I don’t know her name, and a Caster . . .”

“Tamamo.” Drake interjected. Kotarou looked at her. She was filling up another cup, her eyes dark. “I overheard Gudako talking to her about the one they fought. It was her, but not her. A twisted version, one more aligned with the myths they tell of her. More tails too, apparently. Was tied to her mirror or some shit. That mirror certainly had more powers than Tamamo’s does, but that could have come along with the tails.” She drained half of her tankered in one go and waved a lazy hand. “Continue.”

Kotarou bit his lip. “Ah . . . hai. There was . . . we also fought . . .” He closed his eyes. “We fought me.”

“You?” Anne’s voice was surprised. “Little, nice, polite you? I don’t believe it.”

He bit his lip. He could hear the crackle of flames, the cold sluicing through his limbs, the smell of smoke. “Hai. Me.”

“Fuuma you’re a filthy liar.” Kotarou jerked his head up, staring wide eyes at Drake. She inspected her tankard before chugging down the other half. “You didn’t fight yourself. You fought a copy of yourself. An older one, wasn’t he?” She eyed him. “Is that what’s bothering you? That an older copy of yourself nearly killed your whole team?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Fuuma,” Mary chided, “you’re being dumb. You didn’t do it. Another version of yourself did.”

“I am aware of that.” He said slowly.

“Stirred up some memories didn’t it? Demons you’d prefer to stay in their closets?” Once again, Drake shot to the matter at hand. 

Kotarou nodded slowly. “I . . . never wanted Gudako to see me like that.”

Anne clucked her tongue. “Not just that, is it?”

For a few moments the silence ticked by. Kotarou didn’t answer, just stared at his glass. He didn’t know what to say, what could he say in this situation? He didn’t know. He shrunk into himself, ducking his head so his hair covered his face. Finally, he mumbled. “Hai.”

Drake groaned. “Fuuma, leave the dead to the dead. I don’t give a fuck about what you did, you are, or will be, the same as us after all.” She slugged him in the shoulder slightly. “So what if your older self is an Oni that killed a bunch of people? Blackbeard is a perverted ass but we haven’t killed him yet.”

“Been tempted too though.” Mary muttered.

Drake shook her head. “Yeah, you did horrible things. But half the people here did horrible things, and we’re here fighting anyway. Gudako sees past our histories, and welcomes us in. She doesn’t care that you turned into a monster, and none of your friends do either. She accepts you as you are. Leave it at that.”

Anne laughed softly. “How are you so eloquent while drunk?”

“‘Cause I’m not drunk enough.” 

Kotarou chuckled softly, reached out and took a sip of his drink. Drake’s words played in his head, mixing with Proto’s own message. It was the same, but not the same at the same time. He wasn’t sure if either of them were true. But . . . no, he needed to think about it some more. Later though, he was tired of chasing the same circles over and over. He took another pull from his drink and turned back to the conversation. 

Sometime after Drake, Anne, and Mary had dissolved into singing sea shanties, Kotarou made his way back to his room. He hadn’t drunk much, only a cup really, but he still felt a bit unfocused. First Proto, now Drake. He didn’t understand how they could let go of what he’d done so easily. Perhaps that was a given with Drake, she was a pirate, she took what she wanted, fought and killed whoever was in her way, but Proto . . . 

Proto was there, standing outside Kotarou’s door, pacing nervously, a long package held in his arms. Kotarou froze, a trickle of something he couldn’t name slipping into his skin. Unease? Relief? He wasn’t sure.

He stood there for a moment, taking the Lancer in, committing the details into memory just in case Proto was here to cut ties. Black pants, not leather like his older selves usually wore, but still cut slim. A maroon button up shirt, rolled up so half his forearms showed, the top button popped so the flash of a silver chain could just be seen. His hair was more snarled then usual, the blue arc of his ponytail trailing after him as he paced. His brilliant red eyes were shadowed, his face drawn, his shoes striking the floor with each stride.

Kotarou swallowed. “Proto?” Was that his voice? He sounded so small.

Proto jumped, twisting around, eyes flashing. “Kotarou!” There was a wildness in his voice that Kotarou couldn’t name. Proto took a step forward, then hesitated, shifting from side to side. His gaze raked over Kotarou’s form, and he fought the urge to run. “I came to see how you were doing. I tried to visit you earlier but Nightingale wouldn’t let me and then my Lugh be damned other selves held me hostage. Are you okay? I mean you have to be she let you out but you don’t look so good should you even be walking?”

It took Kotarou a moment to decipher the message in the rush of words, but what he managed to figure out shot a bit of warmth through him. Proto had tried to see him, he’d been worried. Kotarou reached up to touch his bandages nervously. “Hai . . . I . . . ah . . .” He swallowed. “Would you like to come in?”

Proto wavered, then nodded. “If you would like me too.” He said softly.

Kotarou ducked his head, then moved over to his door. He opened it up, stepped inside. “Ah . . . shoes off please.” He mumbled, toeing his own off and stepping to the side.

“Yeah.” Proto stepped in beside him, taking off his own shoes. “Shit Kotarou, your room is awesome.”

Kotarou ducked his head, heat flashing across his face. “Ah . . . thank you.” 

For a few moments the silence hung heavy between them. Kotarou shut the door, flicked on the lights. Proto set his package down, letting it lean against the storage boxes, then turned to stare at Kotarou with wide eyes. “Your wrist is fixed.” He said the words softly.

Kotarou rotated his wrist. “Hai . . . ah . . . I do not know who fixed it.” He dipped his head, avoiding Proto’s gaze. He felt . . . he didn’t know. Each breath hung suspended, each beat of his heart rang too loud. He was trying to balance something breakable, afraid he would fail and it would fall and shatter. Proto had seen him. Him as what he became. How could he say they weren’t the same? There were differences, Kotarou could acknowledge that, but in essence he was the same person. At least he should be. Why was this all so complicated?

Quick steps, striding across the tatami mat. Fingers, light against his neck. Kotarou froze. His breath stuttered in his throat. He glanced up, staring into Proto’s eyes. The fingers against his neck were shaking slightly, and there was something in Proto’s gaze that was very . . . shaky as well. Fragile, almost. “Kotarou,” his name was rasped out, “Can I hug you? Please, I,” he closed his eyes, opened them again, “please.”

Numbly, Kotarou nodded. Proto practically fell on him, his arms wrapped around Kotarou’s back, fingers pressing lightly against his bandaged neck. He buried his face into the shoulder of Kotarou’s uninjured side, Kotarou could feel the heat of his breath through his clothes. The last two time’s they had hugged, Proto had clung to him tightly, as if afraid to let go. This time was different. He held Kotarou as if he was a fragile thing, prone to breaking if he squeezed too tightly. And he was shaking. Proto, shaking. Kotarou swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around Proto, shifting so he could stroke the Lancer’s hair. 

“Proto.” He murmured softly, not sure what else to say.

“Kotarou.” Proto gasped out, his fingers tightening slightly. “I was - I thought you were dead!” His voice rose, wild and panicked. Kotarou held him tighter. “By Lugh, there was so much blood, and I was having such a hard time reaching you through the flames and then I was too late and -” His voice broke off into what sounded like a sob. He regained it with effort. “Shit Kotarou, I was so, so scared you wouldn’t make it. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Kotarou blinked in surprise, listening to Proto’s ragged breathing, feeling the shaking of his shoulders. Proto had been worried, worried enough to break down on his shoulder like this. Because . . . because he cared. Cared, foreign as the concept may have been. Despite everything Kotarou had done, despite seeing the thing he became, Proto still cared. Did it . . . really matter why? If, if he was able to cling to Kotarou like this even after everything, then perhaps it didn’t. Or maybe . . . no, this was something he needed to think about later. Proto needed him now. 

He tilted his head slightly, feeling Proto’s hair brush his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his fingers darting through the blue, it felt like silk to the touch. “Proto, it’s not your fault.” He murmured, “I knew the risks. We both did.” He sighed slightly. “Jack had the right idea, we should have retreated. Fighting in a fire filled room was not a good plan.”

Proto chuckled brokenly. 

“But I’m okay, I’ll recover, and so will Hercules. Everyone made it out alive, and I am glad for that.” Kotarou continued. He squeezed hard, pressed his face against Proto’s hair. “I’m here.” He murmured. “I am here.” 

Proto sighed, his breath rushing across Kotarou’s neck. He pulled back slightly, giving Kotarou a wide, watery grin. “Yeah, you are. We both are.” He reached up and cupped Kotarou’s face, hands hot against his own skin. Kotarou’s breath left him, his heart skipped slightly. He could see the shadows under Proto’s earnest gaze. He hadn’t been sleeping well, Kotarou knew the signs better than most. “I,” his thumb brushed against Kotarou’s cheeks, “am so glad you are okay. I know I said it before, but it bears repeating. If anything happened to you I don’t know -” He sighed again and dipped his head, his forehead knocked against Kotarou’s lightly. He bit his lip. “I wanted to say that I -”

“Care.” Kotarou finished for him, and something flashed in Proto’s eyes, too quick for him to name. “You care.” He smiled slightly. “I am . . . sorry for trying to push you away. I didn’t think that . . . anyone could care after . . .” realizing what he was, what he had done.

Proto huffed. His breath rushed over Kotarou’s face. “Yeah.” He said, “care. I care about you, a whole lot. I don’t want to see you hurt.” He stepped back suddenly, his hands leaving Kotarou’s cheeks. Kotarou was left lost without his anchoring touch, adrift suddenly. Dizzy.

Proto hopped a few more steps back, his face flushed. Kotarou released belatedly he was flushing too. He shook his head, tried to clear it of the cobwebs that were clinging to his mind. “I have something for you.” Proto declared, scooping the package up into his arms. “You were babbling while I carried you out so . . .” His voice trailed off, there was a strained quality to his smile that Kotarou couldn’t name. He thrust the packet in Kotarou’s direction. “Here.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Kotarou reached out, took the package. It was heavier than expected. He almost dropped it. Carefully, he set it onto the kotatsu and took off the wrapping.

It was the tachi.  _ His  _ tachi.

He spun around, mouth opening to ask a question, but Proto was already there, rubbing his hair awkwardly, the flush still decorating his face. “You were asking about it. I don’t know if it was the blood loss or not, but I remembered you liked fancy weapons, so I went back and grabbed it.” He grinned a bit awkwardly. “Surprise?”

“I . . . thank you.” He swallowed hard, turned around to run a finger down the blade. It was well made, shining silver, the hilt decorated with red and gold. It was built for hands much larger than his own, and no doubt the balance would be excellent. He smiled again, softer this time. “Thank you.”

Proto swallowed hard. “You’re welcome.” He hesitated, “Are you okay with it? Because . . .” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you to be reminded of  _ him  _ every time you look at it.”

Kotarou stared at him, then sighed. “Proto, I think I get where you’re coming from. I can admit that I am not the same as  _ him _ , but at the same time, we are connected.” Proto opened his mouth to say something, but Kotaoru sent him a glare and Proto’s jaw snapped close. “I . . . understand that separating who we are now and who we become works for you, but I cannot cleanly make that distinction. We all have seeds inside of us that bloom into what we become. However,” he straightened, “I will not allow that to affect my friendship with you, or my friendship with Gudako. I’m . . . sorry . . . about that conversation. I was . . .”

“You needed to vent.” Proto said softly, “to let it all out. That’s okay. I understand.” He smiled slightly, hesitated, then sighed. “I hate to go, but I promised Jack a week of tea parties and she’s already calling me in for one.”

Kotarou dipped his head slightly. “Ah . . . you’re fine.” He watched as the Lancer collected his shoes and opened the door. “Proto!” The name ripped from his lips. Proto jerked to a halt, turning around. 

“Yeah?”   


Kotarou bit his lip. “Are . . . ah . . . we still on for the horror movie thing?”

For a moment Proto only stared at him, then his face lit up. “Yeah! We are!”

“Oh! Ah . . . when is it?”

Proto stared at him, then stared at the floor, then stared at him again. “Would tomorrow work?” 

Kotarou nodded. “Hai . . . ah . . . that would be good.”

Proto beamed. “Great!”

“Hai.” 

Another hesitation, then Proto nodded. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Hai.”

“I-'' He cut himself off, shook his head ruefully, then waved a hand goodbye. He slipped through the doorway and shut the door behind him. 

Kotarou felt all the energy drain from his limbs. He sat down carefully, pulling the blanket over his legs. On the kotatsu, the tachi gleamed. He stared at it for a long time, his mind blank, heat searing his cheeks. He was going to watch a horror movie with Proto tomorrow. He wasn’t sure why that made him so excited, nerves strung on high alert, heart beating too fast in his ears, face flushed and breathing rushed, but it did. He was going to watch a horror movie with Proto tomorrow. He was going to watch a horror movie. With Proto. Tomorrow.

Proto, who despite it all, cared.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait.

Kotarou watched as Mordred crashed through the simulated enemies, lightning leaping off his armor, his wild laughter echoing through the chamber as he struck and kicked at the three false gazers. Normally, Kotarou would be with him, fighting the simulation and marking down all the spots where it failed, but not tonight. Not for a few more nights at least. 

He leaned back against the wall, the dry chill of the metal sinking through his clothes and into his skin. Mordred buried Clarent into the eye of one gazer, leaping off in a burst of energy. Kotarou noted that the gazer’s weren’t moving quickly enough and sighed slightly. After everything, it felt . . . odd to be back in here, waging war against sleep by keeping busy. At least Mordred was in a similar situation, although his nightly visits to the simulator had petered out in the past week, no, two weeks. Two and a half weeks. They’d spent too long in that Singularity, longer with Kotarou’s hospital days added to the number.

Kotarou pulled out a kunai and flipped it over and over in his hands, watching the blade arc silver between his fingers. Mordred growled, and then with a burst of red light another gazer dissolved. He faced the third, sword and helmet up. Both gazer and Servant moved, another blurry of exchanged attacks, beams just dodged and reflected, then the last one also disappeared. Mordred’s helmet deconstructed and the simulation returned to the normal metal walls, the illusion of the forest gone. He grinned. “You’re missing out.”

Kotarou shrugged. “Ah . . . I do not wish to make my injuries worse.” He grabbed a water bottle and tossed it in Mordred’s direction.

The Saber caught it and drank half of its contents in one go. “Yeah  _ yeah  _ I know.”

There was a moment of silence. Kotarou flipped the blade around again, rubbed the hilt with his thumb. “Mordred,” he said, voice spearing through the quiet, “I . . . ah . . . I have a question.”

Mordred froze, a barely imperceptible pause, then nodded. “Shoot.”

Kotarou hesitated, then put his blade away. “How . . . ah . . . how do you . . .” He closed his eyes, “You brought the fall of Camelot, killed dozens, how do you deal? Because I . . . I am trying to figure out this for myself. And I do not know . . . how.”

Mordred planted Clarent into the floor and leaned against the blade. He was utterly still, his face shadowed. Finally, he began to speak. “Fucking  _ hell  _ Kotaru you sure know how to pick em.” He hesitated for a moment more, then continued. “Diarmuid told me on my first day that Chaldea was a place of second chances. And that’s what it is, really. Diar got a second chance with his lord, although that one doesn’t seem to be working out. The same goes for Carrot Top and Hector. But . . . my second chance did. I got my Father, and  _ hell _ , the past still rears its fucking  _ ugly  _ head, but we’re slogging through it.”

Kotarou sighed. “Proto says the person I am now is different then the one I become. Drake says that what I did in the past is inconsequential because I am helping Gudako save the world. But . . . I still wish I could remember the faces of the ones I killed. I don’t think they should be forgotten.”

Mordred groaned, leaning back slightly. “Fucking  _ hell  _ Kotarou,” he repeated. He sighed heavily, began to speak again. “I didn’t kill civilians, not in my life, but with the  _ goddamned  _ Lion King . . .  _ hell  _ I know that was a  _ twisted  _ summoning, but that was still  _ me _ . And I don’t remember their faces either. But it helps for me to punch the Lion King’s simulation to  _ smithereens  _ whenever it becomes too much. Maybe Da Vinci can make a simulation of the Fuuma you faced? Might help. I don’t really fucking know.”

Kotarou bit his lip. “I . . . ah . . . I don’t think it will.”

Mordred growled. “Thought as much. You have to make things  _ fucking  _ complicated.” He sat down, armor disappearing, and blew at his bangs. “I  _ don’t  _ know, I guess, there’s no fucking  _ use  _ in thinking about what you would have done differently. The past is in the past. The future is now, okay? So if you don’t want to become  _ that  _ again, then  _ don’t  _ let yourself. Work on it or some shit.”

Kotarou closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to swirl around and around before they began to click into place. Yes, he was different then  _ him _ , but there was still a part of  _ him  _ in him. Yes, he was here helping Gudako, but that wouldn’t erase his actions in the past. Yet Chaldea was a place for second chances. Mordred knew it practically better than anyone Kotarou was close to. Perhaps . . . perhaps he would take Mordred’s word for it. The seeds were there, he just needed to make sure he didn’t water them. And if . . . somehow,  _ he  _ got summoned then . . . then . . . he would have to live with that fact.

In the end there wasn’t much more he could do. He couldn’t remember the faces of the dead, no matter how hard he tried, but as long as he wished he could, there was hope. As long as he wished that, he was different then  _ him.  _

Kotarou smiled slightly. “Ah . . . thank you, Mordred.”

Mordred shrugged. “No problem.” He stood and stretched, grabbed his sword. “Now,” he grinned, wide and feral, “onto the next simulation.”

Kotarou huffed a small laugh, feeling, somehow, a bit more content. It would take work, yes, but he had his friends by his side, and he could trust them to watch him. He doubted the nightmares would disappear though, they seemed to be ingrained in who he was. But as long as he didn’t sleep, they wouldn’t be a problem.

He stood, tucked his kunai away. “Hai. What would you like to run next?”

Mordred’s grin widened. “I’m feeling dragony tonight. Let’s do that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it’s later! First off, it's so freaking hard to write a serious battle scene when you’ve been calling Oni Fuuma Onion in your head. Get it? Because it’s Fuuma with the OniON? Which means normal Fuuma would be OniOFF. Pffffffft I have a great sense of humor. Anyway, I love this monstrous brain child of mine. I also think it’s funny that Fuuma goes from 5ft to 7ft, and I had a field day with his design. I hope that one day he will be added into the game (an official design would be super freaking cool!) so I can attempt to summon him and cackle maniacally while ordering Onion around in battle. 
> 
> Also, I would just like to say for everyone wondering, Bartholomew did flirt with Onion off screen. It happened. And he almost died so many times for it. Onion was not amused.
> 
> Additionally! Fuuma please stop interrupting Proto, he was trying to confess there!
> 
> Finally! I am so happy to be writing Mordred again, I mean I love writing both Fuuma and Proto but Mordred’s an absolute blast to write and I missed writing him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realization, three chulainns v one chulainn, the Hopeless Crush Club meets, I finally get to write my favorite Archer (surprise it is not Emiya), Fran and Proto’s friendship is very fun, Flower Crowns for the Teenage Terrors, tea time, dinner, and the totally not a date date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's the *insert frantic yelling here* next to last chapter! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Anyway, I would like to thank everyone one of you who have commented and left kudos! Hope you all enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day!

_ It was Rayshift day and Proto was having a blast. They had shifted somewhere cold, and Gudao huddled in the snow, occasionally calling out a miserable order or too. Proto couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for his Master’s plight, he loved the snow. The way it felt, the way it covered everything, turning his surroundings to crystal. He thought it was funny to dip his hands into snowdrifts and watch the white powder turn to slush. _

_ He was pretty sure Alter liked it too, but the Berserker showed no outward signs besides the occasional wrinkle of his nose. Not that there would be any outwards signs, right now they were in the middle of a fight, and Alter’s face was as blank as ever. _

_ The rest of his Rayshift group danced through the flakes. Jack was a barely there shadow, slicing the golems she faced apart with her knives. Hercules, as always, was characterized by the trail of destruction he left in his wake. Mash defended Gudao, seemingly untouched by the cold. And Fuuma . . .  _

_ Fuuma was a dance of shadow and fire, barely present but for a few seconds at most. But those few seconds were enough. Flashes of him, his recently gained jinburi trailing behind, the blasts of red orange fire that occasionally lit up the night. His face was calm as ever, his red hair just touched with snow, his blazing eyes picking out targets with ease. He moved through the battlefield as if it wasn’t there, kunai flashing, kusarigama shooting out to tangle limbs or to cut or for the blunt end to fall on top of unsuspecting heads. It was artwork at it’s finest, how could he not watch? _

_ His enemies didn’t allow him the chance.  _

_ Proto, with his eyes still jumping around, trying to keep track of Fuuma’s flitting form, ran right into one of the golems’ fist. His vision was seared white for an instant, blood filled his mouth. He stumbled back, shaking his head, blinking away stars. The golem pulled his fist back for another blow. _

_ Something grabbed Proto by the arm, yanked him away. A second later Fuuma was in the golem’s face, all flame and flashing blades. It didn’t make a sound, golems rarely did, but it stumbled back a few feet, beady black eyes glancing around. It didn’t matter, Fuuma had already disappeared. _

_ Proto’s face hurt, and it wasn’t from the punch. _

_ He gripped Gae Bolg tighter and lunged into the fray, forcing his mind on the fight. Not on Fuuma, not on CasCu’s words, which seemed determined to rise up and haunt him for absolutely no reason. _

“Yes, we’re talking about the person you’re totally crushing on.”

_ No. He wasn’t crushing on anyone. So what if Fuuma’s fighting style was dangerously addictive to watch? So what if Fuuma’s voice carried a crackle in it that was so hard to pin down and made Proto want to listen to it forever? So what if Fuuma’s hair looked silky to the touch and made his finger’s itch to play with it? So what if Fuuma’s eyes sparked when he had an idea, and so what if Fuuma was clever enough to pull plans and information from thin air? So what if he was mysterious and shy and seemed to switch between embarrassment and confidence with the blink of an eye? So what if he was cute when he got embarrassed? So what if those few glimpses of anger Proto had seen was hot?  _

_ Oh. _

_ Wait a minu - _

_ The golem’s fist hit his chest. He flew back, breath whooshing from his lungs, slamming against the ground and into a snow drift. For a moment he laid there, head spinning, lungs aching, the snow around him melting. Fuuma. Fuuma Kotarou. He tasted the Assassin’s name in his mind, Fuuma Kotarou. His heart jolted slightly, he could feel his cheeks grow hotter. _

_ Well shit. It seemed CasCu was right after all. _

_ He did, indeed, have a crush on one Fuuma Kotarou. _

Proto didn’t sleep well that night. He just lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, Kotarou’s words playing over and over in his mind. Kotarou had said “cared” as if he hadn’t tasted the word in a long time, and Proto didn’t know whether to scream or blush or to do some messy mix of both. He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow. For a moment, he just stayed that way, before he turned his head and stared at his fingers. He could still feel Kotarou’s rough bandages against his skin. He swallowed, hard. 

He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few nights. Every time he tried, Kotaoru would rise into his mind, and it wasn’t his smiles or his voice or his quiet laughs or his bright eyes, but it was him, covered in blood, massive kunai sticking out of the junction between shoulder and neck, flames licking at his clothes. His face had been pale, his eyes dim, his hair painfully vibrant against the white of his skin. And Proto had been so, so scared, even when Jack and him had managed to get Kotarou stable, even when Gudako managed to bring him from the brink, even when Nightingale came into his room and told him that Kotarou would live. 

Proto rolled over again, glared at the ceiling. Some part of him hated the fact that his older selves had dragged him away before he could see how Kotarouwas doing, but at the same time he knew he had needed that distraction. He’d have practically fretted himself to death otherwise. Still, he wished that he had been there when Kotarou had woken up, had managed to stay by his side.

He blew out a harsh breath, watched his bangs float for a second before falling back onto his face. At least Kotarou had looked better. Still wan, still in his armor, still with the bandages showing beneath his clothes, but he was alive. And that was what mattered. He was alive. They were both alive.

And they were going to watch a horror movie together tomorrow.

Proto rolled back over and buried his face into the pillow again, pressing his hot cheeks against it’s cold surface. They were going to watch a movie together. He had too - no, how was he going to prevent his other selves from barging in? Because they would, they absolutely would. Perhaps he could ask Marie . . . no, that would be just as bad. And he couldn’t ask Fran because Fran would tell Mordred then Mordred would tell Cu and then he’d be in the same situation! He’d have to figure something else for himself. Which entertainment room had a tv? Well, there was the room Tomoe used, but asking her to leave her games for a while might be dangerous. But for Kotarou -

“YA LITTLE BRAT!” The door snapped open, banged hard against the wall. Proto jumped up and scrambled off the bed, armor coalescing, Gae Bolg falling into his hands. CasCu entered his room, Alter and Cu flanking him. “What’s this that I hear? You have a date. With Fuuma. And you didn’t tell us?”

Proto felt the blood drain from his face.

Shit.

They already knew.

He dropped Gae Bolg. The spear clattered to the floor and disappeared, and Proto raised his hands in defense. “NO! I don’t! I don’t have a date with Kotarou!” He could feel his face flaming, could hear his words cracking like broken glass.

Alter raised an eyebrow, shutting the door and leaning against it. Cu grinned. “Kotarou eh? First names then?”

Proto opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t say anything. His throat was utterly dry. Panic sluiced through his veins. 

“I think,” CasCu said playfully, “That somebody hasn’t been telling us everything.” He tapped his chin, red eyes gleaming. “A birdie told me that not only do you have a date, but you and Fuuma also hugged. And you gave him something yesterday.”

Cu’s grin wided. “Come on, spill.”

Proto looked desperately towards Alter, hoping beyond hope that the Berserker would take his side. Alter glanced at him. “No.” A single word, the toll of Proto’s death knell. Alter glanced away, dismissing Proto’s plight.

Proto growled at him. One day the tables would be turned, he swore it.

“Sit, Proto.” CasCu said. “And explain. Everything.”

Proto sat, it was three versus one, there wasn’t much more he could do. He crossed his arms and glared at his other selves. CasCu stood with his hands on his hips, Cu was sitting on Proto’s table, and Alter still bared his path to escape. Lugh damn his other selves. “There’s not much to explain.” He said, gritting out the words. “And it’s not a date.” He tagged on, fighting the urge to collapse back onto his bed and groan.

“Shall you do it or shall I?” Cu asked.

“You do it.” CasCu said.

“Awesome.” Cu grinned widely, leaning forwards like a wolf that smelled blood. “Before your rayshift, you were calling Fuuma by his last name, could barely speak to him without setting your face on fire or swallowing your tongue. Now, you’re calling him by his first name. You hugged. And you have a date. And you’re visiting his room bearing gifts. That sounds like something happened to me.”

Proto stuttered, tried to protest, but CasCu cut over him. “Explain.” There was a look in his eyes that Proto didn’t like, the acute reminder that not only was CasCu a warrior like the rest of, but he was older, and cleverer, and knew how to get revenge in terrifying ways. 

Proto decided it was probably better to spill rather than watching his back for the next month waiting for CasCu’s revenge. He swallowed hard. “Kotarou and I, we got separated from the main group for a bit. Had to get through a cave system, got captured by pirates, and well,” He flushed, harder, if that was possible, “I don’t know why he told me to call him Kotarou but he did. And as for the hug . . . he had a nightmare, and I wanted to make him feel better.” And no one, no one, but Jack knew about that hug. He was going to murder the Assassin when the next tea party came around. And he kept the other hugs to himself, they felt more private then the other one. “As for the movie, it’s not a date, he was feeling down and I just wanted to cheer him up. That’s all.”

For a moment or two, silence from his other selves. Finally Alter spoke. “You aren’t telling us everything.”

“Of course I’m not telling you everything!” Proto snapped. “Some shit is private you know!” It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it immediately.

CasCu practically lunged forwards. “Did you kiss? Did you confess? Did you -”

“SHUT UP!” Proto blurted out, face flaming. “No we did not kiss, and no I did not confess and no to whatever you were going to say next! Kotarou told me personal things you asshole, I’m not sharing with you!”

CasCu blinked, but Cu seemed to get it. “Ooooooh,” He said, leaning back against the table. “He told you about that kind of stuff.” He grinned half heartedly. “Moving on then, how’d you feel when Fuuma told you to call him by his first name? I remember when Emiya gave me his name.” His grin turned much . . . soppier.

CasCu’s eyebrow twitched. “Sheesh, we get it, you love struck fool. I won’t ask about the private shit. But I still wanna hear what Proto has to say about everything else.”

Proto groaned. “Give me a break, please.”

“No.” Alter grunted, immediately. Proto growled in his direction. The Berserker remained unfazed.

“Spill. The. Beans.” CasCu said.

“Fine!” Proto threw up his hands. “FINE! It was amazing. I couldn’t believe it. I think I love saying his name. I mean, why wouldn’t I? Kotarou.” He laughed a bit wildly. “Shit, I mean, Kotarou. It’s so nice to say! And the hug, fuck, I - he’s so small! And his hair’s so silky and he smells really nice and -”

“I’m starting to regret this.” Alter interrupted.

Proto stopped his rambling and glared at him. “ANYWAY, yeah, we’re going to watch a horror movie together. No, it’s not a date.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “I wish it was, but he called me his friend. And I,” he groaned again, “I’m happy that he considers me his friend but I wish that . . .” He gave up and flopped back onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling.

“So it’s practically a date.” Cu commented.

“That’s what I’m hearing.” CasCu leaned over him, eyes glittering. “Don’t worry brat, I can lend you a couple horror movies for your date.” His snicker cut over Proto’s protests. “Now, tell us what happened yesterday. And about that gift. We saw you lugging it around.”

Proto glared dully at his oldest self. “Kotarou likes collecting weapons, so I grabbed something for him before the Rayshift back. And I went to make sure he was alright. I just . . . I needed to make sure he was okay.” He hesitated for a moment, then covered his face with his hands. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I tried to confess to him.”

“YOU WHAT?!” Three voices, raised in disbelief. 

Proto pushed himself back up, scowling at the three visages of surprise. Even Alter had unbent enough to stare at him wide eyed, jaw swinging. “Don’t get your hopes up, he interrupted me before I could finish.” 

“Shit.” Cu said, “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of you actually trying to confess.”

CasCu blinked. “He interrupted you? Fuuma?”

Proto sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Look, I just . . . he almost died. And everything in front of us . . . it's only going to get worse. I don’t, I don’t want to be too late. If only he wasn’t so dense.”

Cu grinned widely. “You have got to up your game.”

Proto sputtered. “What?”

CasCu smirked. “No, he’s right. Before now you’ve done nothing but freak out in his presence. Now, though, you have a chance. It’s time to up your game, flirt a little. Don’t worry,” he snickered, “you’ve got all day to figure out how this will go.”

Proto felt his stomach drop. He looked to Alter for help. It was a last ditch effort, but the Berserker only smirked faintly and shook his head. Shit. He was stuck, and they knew it. CasCu and Cu erupted into full lecture mode, waving hands and throwing out wilder and wilder ideas as if any of them made sense. He . . . would be here for a while. 

Proto wasn’t sure what made Alter snap, whether it was the arguments that dissolved from CasCu’s and Cu’s attempted lecture, or whether it was something else, but finally Proto was free. He raced down the halls at top speed, skidding around corners, blasting past staff and Servants. He was going to be late, he was going to be late, he couldn’t be late.

The door, in front of him, he burst through it, wincing as it slammed open. He skidded to a halt, grinned awkwardly at the sight that awaited him. “Hey. What’s up?”

Fran sipped her tea and gave him a look.

Mash straightened slightly. The girl he’d first met, hesitant and uncertain, had been swept away by the various singularities. She was more confident now, unafraid to say what she wanted to. Her smile was sweet. Her words less so. “Good. Now that you’re here, I motion the action to kick you out.”

Fran raised an eyebrow, set her cup down, and signed.  _ Over a movie?  _

Of course she knew, of course Mash had told her. There was no such thing as secrecy in Chaldea.

They knew, so, while he was here, he might as well fall into the deep end. He coughed awkwardly. “So about that . . .” Two pairs of eyes swiveled to fix on him. He swallowed hard, dragged a seat away from the table and sat down. “Ah . . .” He coughed again and muttered into his fist, “IkindatriedtoconfesstohimbutheinterruptedmesowhatthefuckdoIdonow.”

Mash blinked. “Could you please try that again but slower?”

Fran, however, was quicker on the upkeep. She leaned forwards, eyes wide behind her hair. Her hands flicked furiously as she signed.  _ You what? You confessed? _ _   
_ “Almost confessed.” He groaned and slumped forwards, his head hit the table. “How can someone so smart be so dense? Not only that, he interrupted me because he just figured out that I cared! And he’d said it like the idea had never crossed his mind!” He groaned again. He could still see Kotarou’s face in his mind, his pink tinged cheeks, his tiny, hesitant smile, his red eyes just glimpsed behind his hair. By Lugh, he had no clue what to do now. CasCu and Cu had been no help at all.

Mash sighed. “I guess I retract my motion.”

“Gee thanks.” He mumbled.

Fran tapped the table and he turned his head to look at her.  _ Denseness is a plague.  _ She signed, her face a mask of seriousness,  _ it feeds off other dense folk. Mordred and Fuuma definitely feed each other’s denseness.  _

“Explain Senpai then.” Mash put her cheek on her palms. “She’s been dense from the beginning.”

_ Her denseness tainted their summonings. _

There was a brief pause, then the whole table burst into laughter. Proto with his loud guffaws, Mash and Fran with their snorting giggles. It felt good to laugh again. The tension from that mess of a singularity drained from his shoulders, and he leaned back in his seat. “It’s contagious.” He managed to get out. Another round of laughter exploded, mostly from him, but Mash was having trouble restraining her own giggles.

Fran regained control first. “Any other developments I should be made aware of?”

Mash flushed. “The Lion King told Senpai and I that she hadn’t been summoned to watch us beat around the bush.”

Proto snorted. “I don’t think anyone was summoned for that. Hey hey hey don’t give me that look.”

“Beyond that, not really.” Mash blew at a lock of purple hair. “I feel like we’re still kind of circling each other. Anything else you want to add Proto?”

“We hugged.” He blurted out, and both Mash and Fran jolted to attention. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, but with effort, he fought it down. “And before you ask, it was really nice. Really, really nice.” He covered his face with his hands. “And CasCu knows. I’m never going to get peace again.”

“Fran says details Proto.” Mash stated.

He peaked at them through his fingers. Mash was giving him one of her blank looks. Those looks had become rare as time passed, and weren’t as effective as they used to be. He was pretty sure she was amused, as maybe slightly jealous as well. Fran, however, had all her attention on Proto, no doubt ready to commit every detail to memory.

“Do I have too? I’ve already done this today.” He whined.

Fran nodded her head emphatically and he groaned again.

“Fine, like I said, it was nice. Very nice.” He swallowed hard. “He so small, and he smells really good and his hair is very silky and -”

Fran giggled a huffed, tiny thing, but Proto’s eyes snapped to her. She covered her mouth, eyes shining, and made a go on motion with her hand.

He cursed. “No. No no no no no no no. I’m not telling you anything else. Shut up.” He rubbed his hands over his burning face and glared at the Berserker. “What about you? What happened to you while we were gone?”

Fran smiled.  _ Well, since Fuuma wasn’t using the simulators, Mordred ended up spending most of the nights in my room. We had a pillow fight. And we found a couple of game consoles and played all night. It was fun.  _ Her smile faltered.  _ Professor has started being weird about Mordred. I don’t think he’s happy about my choice of men. _

“Proffessor is suspicious as fuck,” Proto grumbled, “he doesn’t have room to say anything.”

Mash sighed. “I wish we knew who he was. Da Vinci has been looking everywhere in the records, but well . . .”

_ He’s been very hard to find.  _ Fran finished for her.  _ Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to. Mordred has been as dense as ever, so I can’t say we’re going to watch horror movies together, though I will certainly keep that in mind.  _ She turned to Proto, amber and blue eyes glinting.  _ Have you chosen a room? Set anything up? Gotten snacks? _

Proto growled. “No, I haven’t, because my older selves thought it would be fun to give me the third degree. But at least CasCu gave me a whole bunch of horror movies, so we could pick what we want to watch.” He hesitated, then tapped the table. “I was wondering if Tomoe would allow me to borrow the tv she uses for her entertainment system. She can’t play video games all day.” Probably.

Mash glanced at Fran then sighed. “It’s worth a shot.” She stood, bowed. “I would join, but Senpai will be attempting to run away from paperwork at this moment so I should stop her. Good day to you both.”

_ Bye! _

“See ya.”

She retreated, and Fran turned to Proto, her signs sharp and certain.  _ We should go ask her now so you have more time to prepare. _

Proto gulped. “Now?” 

Fran gave him a look.  _ Now. _

Proto tramped resolutely by Fran’s side as they headed towards Tomoe’s gaming room. He’d managed to summon his courage from wherever it had fled too when Fran had insisted on him talking to Tomoe now. He was Cu Chulainn, he didn’t run from things. And he wasn’t going to run from this. So he held his chin up, and wished that he had taken the chance to change out of yesterday’s clothes, and took comfort in the fact that he had the class advantage. And that if a fight broke out in front of Fran, Professor would probably appear from nowhere and destroy the other Archer.

Maybe.

He’d never fought Tomoe, and there was a reason for that. He’d seen her on the battlefield once, a whirl of flame and weapons, switching from arrows to glaive to fists as the need arose. He wasn’t scared of her, by Lugh she’d probably be a great fight, but she never went to the training rooms to spar. Proto had heard stories about her gaming addiction, about how she channeled her bloodlust through that.

She probably wouldn’t attack them if they interrupted her.

Probably.

They came to the door, and Fran glanced at him and signed,  _ It’s your date. _

Proto flushed. “It’s not a date.” He pushed open the door gently. The creak it uttered was not comforting, at all. From inside came the sounds of game music and battle. He swallowed hard, then entered the room, Fran on his heels. 

It was a large room, dominated by the tv that covered one wall, and the giant couch and table that took up half the floor. The couch looked big enough to hold at least ten people if they squashed together, so the only head that could be made out was all the more obvious. The white hair, the red horns, those, and the fighting game that was currently playing on the screen were dead giveaways to who sat there.

Tomoe Gozen. Archer. Gamer. Oni.

Fran pushed him fully inside and he stumbled, coughed awkwardly, and said. “Uh . . . Hey, Tomoe . . . can I talk to you for a moment?” He winced. What the fuck was that? He needed to calm down. It wasn’t like she was going to kill him for interrupting her game. Right? 

The head turned slightly, the game froze, the word PAUSED appeared on the screen. Tomoe Gozen stood, revealing a small woman, shorter than him but taller than Kotarou, with a friendly face and large red eyes with slitted white pupils. Something in Proto relaxed, she didn’t look like she was going to summon her bow and shoot. “Hai?” She said in a smooth, calm voice. “Proto, correct? Is there something you needed?”

Proto swallowed hard. There were other rooms with tv’s, like the one that had been used for Artoria’s birthday. But this one was the best, and, even if it wasn’t an official date, he wanted Kotarou to have the best. “I was wondering if I could borrow this room this evening. It would only be for an hour or two, three at most!” The last words were rushed, he waved his arms around in a panic.

Tomoe’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Could you tell me why?”

Fran stepped up beside him, a bright smile on her face and her hands signing slowly and clearly.  _ Proto has a date, and he was going to watch movies with his date. He was hoping to borrow this room because the tv in this room is the best in Chaldea. _

“Oh.” Tomoe’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. “I can do that. When will you need it?”

“How.” Proto blurted, as soon as the details had been hammered out. “How did you get her to agree?”

Fran smiled slightly.  _ She’s married, and she is a mother. I figured if we explained things like that, she would agree. Besides, she’s very reasonable unless Yoritomo and his associates are not mentioned. _

Proto’s shoulders slumped. “You knew.” He grumbled, “You knew I was terrified over nothing.”

_ Yes.  _ She poked his arm and pushed. He struggled not to fall over, like many Berserkers, she was stronger then she looked.  _ Now, you need a shower. And a change of clothes. You stink. _

Oh Lugh . . . oh Lugh clothes. He hadn’t thought that far. What should he wear? What could he wear? What screamed ‘hey, I know this isn’t a date but I would really like for it to be one’? He made a noise in the back of his throat. It must have been some noise, because Fran burst out into giggles at his plight.

_ No worries.  _ She signed cheerfully.  _ I’ll help. _

The shower helped, or at least it helped a little bit. It was hard to panic when the water was pummeling his muscles into relaxation. Choosing his clothes, however, wiped all that progress away. He was lucky. He’d had a Master in his previous War who had been very fashion conscious, so although he had a collection of Hawaiian shirts and leather pants, they were right next to button downs, fancy jeans, and slacks. So it wasn’t like he was completely without a choice. 

_ Go casual.  _ Fran signed. They’d stopped by her room first, and she was currently filling his table with origami flowers. The bursts of oranges and yellows decorating the table looked like flames, and for a moment he was reminded of  _ his  _ blaze, of Kotarou’s small form lost in the swirl of smoke and fire. He forced the thought away and focused on Fran’s sign language.  _ If you dress up he might start worrying. _

Proto swallowed, hard. Kotarou worrying was the last thing he needed, but casual meant Hawaiian shirts, or worn tee shirts. “Fran, I want to look good!”

She rolled her eyes and pointed to his closet.  _ Jeans. Maybe one of those button downs. Not a Hawaiian shirt. You’ll lose him if you wear one of those. _

Proto scowled faintly. He knew she was right, but there was no reason to diss his Hawaiian shirts. They hadn’t done anything wrong. “Cu scored Emiya and he wore Hawaiian shirts.”

_ That’s because the two of them thrive on annoying each other. _

“Fine.” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a red button down and went back to the bathroom to get changed. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, his palms were drenched in sweat, and his fingers shook while he did up the buttons on his shirt. He wiped his hands on his pants and stared at the person in the mirror. His hair looked twice as snarled as it should have been, the blue strands stuck up every which way. The collar of his shirt was twisted, his eyes were wide and panicked. He looked, in short, like a mess.

He needed to calm down.

He closed his eyes, sucked in a couple deep breaths, and grabbed his brush. Resolutely he began to drag it through his hair. He had a few hours yet, he couldn’t fall apart now.

It was funny, he hadn’t been this nervous with Emer or Ferdiad, although the situations weren’t the same. He’d been pressured into finding a wife, Emer had wanted a husband she could have an intelligent conversation with, and they hadn’t hated each other. In fact, they’d gotten along quite well, and Proto had, or would, enjoy being married to her. As for Ferdiad, they had trained together with Scathath, and slept together, and then it had become something beyond bed and battle buddies. This thing with Kotarou was different than both of those situations, and . . . he liked what he had with Kotarou, he just wanted more.

Which meant he had to get through tonight.

He finished brushing his hair, did up the band, then straightened his collar. He glanced at the mirror one last time before leaving the bathroom behind. No more freaking out, he had to get through this. It was one movie, one movie, that was all. He would survive. 

Fran had drifted from her yellow and orange flowers into blues and purples. A few pinks also shone through the carpet of color. She glanced up when he entered, head tilted to the side, a questioning smile on her lips. Proto grinned at her. “Yeah. I’m doing better now.” He sat on his bed, rubbing a thumb against the fabric on his knees. “What are you even going to use those for?”

She put her latest one down and began to sign,  _ Flower crowns. _

He blinked. “Flower crowns?”

She nodded.  _ One’s going to be for Mordred, and I’m making one for Professor too. I figure if I can soften him up, I can maybe figure out his true intentions.  _ Her smile fell, her hands stilled, then she started singing again.  _ He reminded me of my father, when I first saw him, but I am beginning to think I was wrong.  _ She frowned.  _ He is not a good person, but,  _ she hesitated, then sighed.  _ I do not know. There is something that makes me feel he is not trying to deceive me, although that can’t possibly be right. _

Proto snorted. “He’s fishy for sure, but, between Mordred’s instincts and your knowledge, I'm pretty sure you two will figure something out.”

She beamed at him,  _ Thank you! Would you like a flower crown too? _

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he shrugged. “What the hell, go for it. I’m going to go talk to Emiya about the possibility of snacks.”

She nodded and stood.  _ You do that, meet me in my room in a little bit.  _ Then she swept up her paper flowers into her little bag, another one of Da Vinci’s bags of holding like Kotarou’s, and left his room, a spring in her step and a broken hum on her lips. Proto left her too it, and headed in the opposite direction. He had a cook to find.

Surprisingly, or really unsurprisingly, Emiya already knew about Proto’s not-date. He met the Lancer right inside the kitchens, eyebrow raised, separated from the bustle of four other servants and numerous other kitchen staff. “I assume,” he said dryly, “that you want me to make snacks for your date.”

Proto flushed and bit back the urge to clarify that it wasn’t a date. He nodded instead. “Yeah, that would be great. If you have the time, of course.”

Emiya narrowed his eyes at him. “What time?”

Proto blinked at him. Time, he’d scheduled a time with Tomoe. Probably before then, definitely before then. Fuck, he hadn’t told Kotarou the time. He swallowed hard. “After dinner,” he managed, “Uh, eight ish.”

Emiya sighed. “Fine, I can do that. Now get, you’ll get in the way otherwise.”

Proto did as he was told and scrambled out of the kitchens.  _ “Kotarou! Would eight work for you?” _

_ “Ah!”  _ A startled noise.  _ “Ah . . . hai. That would . . . that’s fine.”  _ Kotarou’s voice crackled in Proto’s mind, and it was good to hear it, to know that this wasn’t all in vain. He sucked in a deep breath, then booked it to Fran’s room.

“I’m starting to think,” Proto grumbled as he lay on Fran’s bed, “that this is all way more difficult than it could be. Should have just kissed him.” So many times, there were so many times when he should have just kissed him. Like yesterday for example. Should have cut him off right when he was talking about Proto caring like it was a foreign concept and kissed him.

_ What?  _ Fran signed.  _ And scare him away?  _ She sat beside him, cross legged, dress spread out and half finished flower crown balanced on her knee.  _ Imagine all the things you’d miss if you’d done that. Hugs. Snuggles. Hand holding . . .  _ Her gaze drifted far away.  _ I want to hold Mordred’s hand. I bet it would be really nice. _

Proto groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. He imagined Kotarou’s hands, the scar flecked fingers, the calluses on his palms, fitted against Proto’s own. More than a brief moment where he hauled the Assassin to his feet, but actual hand holding. Fingers laced together and everything. “Yeah, you’re right.” A kiss wasn’t worth throwing all that could be away. 

Fran made a small noise, one of agreement, and for a moment they just stayed like that in silence. Proto ran over the ragged checklist in his mind. Movies acquired. Check. Tv and entertainment room acquired. Check. Snack acquired. Check. Shower and new clothes. Check. He still needed to find a way to make sure CasCu and Cu didn’t spy on them while they watched that movie. Maybe runes? No, CasCu would be able to dispel any runecraft Proto managed. Perhaps Tomoe’s own reputation would mask which room they were using, no one dared disturb her gaming.

He wondered why. Tomoe had been nice and understanding. Yes, she was a ferocious warrior, but the tales he’d heard of the vengeance she’d wreck if anyone interrupted her gaming suddenly seemed overblown now that he’d met the actual person. 

Fran tapped his arm, and he peered at her from under the crook of his elbow.  _ Yours is done. _

“Oh.” He pushed himself up, stared at the circle Fran presented him with. Orange and deep red papers, folded and twisted till they looked almost real. Every now and then a yellow bloom burned bright among the darker colors. He smirked faintly, took it from her hands. “Really playing up the Child of Light thing, huh?”

She smirked right back at him.  _ Red is Fuuma’s color. _

Proto nearly dropped the flower crown.

She laughed at him.  _ Go ahead and put it on, that’s what it’s for.  _ She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes sparkling behind her bangs.  _ Perhaps I should make one for Fuuma as well, only in blue. _

Proto flushed. “You’re a menace. I don’t know why Mordred thinks you’re sweet, you’re an absolute menace” He put the flower crown on his head anyway, adjusting it so the flowers didn’t poke into his skin.

Fran blushed.  _ Mordred thinks I’m sweet? _

Proto, with effort, managed to retain a straight face. “I mean, yeah he does. Calls you his sweetest friend and everything. Which has to mean something because Lily’s his friend too.”

Fran stared at him, the blush on her cheeks deepening, her hands starting to sign before falling still before attempting to sign again. She gave up, and buried her face in her hands. Proto snorted loudly. She glared at him between her fingers. Slowly, she managed to sign,  _ Not funny. _

He grinned. “Yes it is.”

_ Well, your panic about your date is funny and you don’t see me laughing. _

“You laughed at my expense! You so did!”

The door crashed open, and both of them yelped. Proto nearly fell off the bed, scrambling to stay on and keep his flower crown on his head. Mordred strode in like he owned the place, red jacket blazing, a grin wide on his face. Behind him trailed . . . Kotarou.

Proto made a noise in the back of his throat, all thoughts of Mordred and Fran fleeing his mind. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Kotarou was here. Kotarou, who stood awkwardly by the door, one hand loosely holding his other wrist. Proto didn’t see him often enough to know if the clothes he wore were casual for him or not, but they made Proto’s mouth go dry. A loose, zip up grey vest with a hood, the edges of his black tank top just visible beneath. Jeans, looser than the ones Proto wore, but still neat. A few leather armbands decorated his wrists. He looked good, better than good, better then Proto had been expecting for someone who’d been in the infirmary the day before yesterday. He could still see the bandages around Proto’s neck, the occasional wrappings or band aid on his bare arms, all looking fresher than they had been yesterday. New. He must have visited the infirmary again today.

“ _ Yo _ Fran, Kotarou was wondering if you had a book about -”

Kotarou glanced at him, Proto knew the Assassin glanced at him even though his bangs covered both eyes. It was in the way he tilted his head, the way his shoulders shifted the slightest bit, the way his mouth opened and closed, before he finally bit his lip. He shifted from side to side awkwardly, what was visible of his face growing darker with each moment. Proto tried to tear his eyes away. He couldn’t, could only watch as Kotarou bowed and babbled. “Ah! My apologies . . . I . . . ah . . . never mind about the book! I’ll . . . ah . . . I’ll go see if the library has one.” Then he was gone, so fast that, for a split second, his afterimage was left behind.

“Huh.” Mordred broke in, hands on his hips. “That was  _ odd _ . He was fine on the way here.”

Fran signed, a teasing smile on his lips.  _ Maybe he realized something important.  _

“Eh, I  _ guess _ . Proto, hey Proto are you listening to me? What the  _ fuck  _ is on your head?”

Proto jerked out of dreamland, remembering, finally, the need to breath. “What - oh the flower crown? Fran’s making them, working on one for you right now, right?”

_ Yes. Any colors you want in particular Mordred? _

The time to wring the scapegoat’s neck came. He left for Alice's room, where the kid Servants apparently always met for their tea party, spinning Gae Bolg loosely in his hands. People got out of his way quickly, sending curious glances his way. He stopped outside Alice’s door, dismissed Gae Bolg, and tipped his flower crown up to glare at the cheerful coat of pink paint. He hadn’t gotten the chance to put the flower crown away, he and Mordred had been caught up talking while Fran wove her crowns, so it sat resplendent on his head, a halo of fiery fake flowers. He rapped his knuckles on the door. “OI! You little traitors open up!”

Jack swung open the door. “Traitor?” She pouted, amber eyes wide as if that would work on him. “I’m not a traitor.”

Proto crossed his arms and glared at her. “You promised you wouldn’t tell CasCu about the hug.” He gritted out. “You lied. Lier.”

Jack’s pout grew bigger. “I didn’t tell him about the hug.”

“No.” Came a prim and proper voice from within the room. Alice appeared, violet eyes vaguely amused. “She told me, and then I told CasCu. She did tell CasCu about the date though, but that wasn’t a violation of your deal.” She smiled and clapped her hands together. “Come on in! It’s time for tea!”

Proto scowled at her, then at Jack who stood there unrepentantly. “You little brat!” He shot at the Assassin. “You were spying on us!”

Jack glanced around as if there were anyone else she could possibly pin the blame on, then shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”   
“Like hell you -”

Alice stamped her foot. “No swearing! I think you should be the princess tonight, don’t you agree Jack?”

Jack pursed her lips and nodded. “He’s already got a crown and everything!” Proto sputtered, tried to argue, but the Assassin lunged and dragged him into the fairy tail and stuffed animal-filled land of Alice’s room. Their table was already set with chairs and teas and cakes, while animated teddy bears sipped their drinks and pantomimed conversation. It was too late, there was no escape. He was stuck.

He was freed in time for dinner, where he collapsed into his seat with a pained groan. Mordred and Fran had already grabbed plates, the Saber with his normal stacked meal, Fran with a selection that was much smaller. Proto hadn’t grabbed much, his appetite had fled. In two hours he would be watching a movie with Kotarou. And Alice and Jack, Lily too once she’d joined, had grilled him almost worse than CasCu had. He’d managed to keep things like the place secret, but the time had slipped out. Which meant it would be guaranteed that his older selves would be roaming Chaldea’s halls when eight came around.

Really, he was almost done with talking today. Especially questions. If he never heard another question again it would be too soon. 

He sighed and took a bite of his steak, staring out into the crowded Chaldean cafeteria. Like all days, Kotarou was nowhere to be seen, he didn’t seem to eat in here, if he ate at all. The snacks, Proto would have to grab the snacks before he headed to Kotarou’s room. And he had to drop his flower crown off. And pick up the plethora of movies CasCu had pushed on him. He bit back a groan and rubbed his eyes. 

“Nervous?” Mordred asked with a challenging grin.

Proto sent him a glare. “Only if you tell Achilles.”

_ You should have seen him before.  _ Fran signed.  _ An absolute mess. I thought he would pass out before the day was over.  _

“Thanks so much.” Proto grumbled dryly, taking another bite of his steak. His stomach was churning, like there were a hundred insects crawling around and trying to gnaw their way out to freedom. 

Mordred snorted. “Eh, I won’t tell Carrot Top. Kotarou’s my friend, and he  _ won’t  _ forgive me if I sent the gossip gang barging into your date.”

“Not a date.”

“What the  _ fuck  _ ever.”

_ You know what would really cheer him up?  _ Fran smiled slyly.  _ If you told him why Jalter’s hair is hot pink. _

Proto’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down and twisted wildly around, searching for the Avenger in the crowd, he couldn’t - no, there she was. Ripped black shirt and leather skirt, her hair a vivid pink and fury written across her face. Salter, who sat in front of her, seemed to have a hard time figuring out which was more interesting, her junk food or Jalter’s hair. Proto turned back to Mordred and Fran, both of whom looked extremely smug. “HOW.”

Mordred smirked. “So, it  _ all  _ started with Lily and her  _ fucking  _ fascination with modern media, and her confusion about how Romani keeps getting Magi Mari updates or what the  _ fuck  _ ever. So she came up with the  _ brilliant  _ idea of -”

_ Videotaping some of the Chaos Crew’s pranks.  _ Fran finished, beaming brightly.

Proto’s jaw dropped, his apprehension towards tonight vanished. “You what?”

Mordred’s grin couldn’t possibly get any wider, but somehow the Saber managed. “You fucking  _ saw  _ what Fran said. We’re videotaping the Chaos Crew’s chaos now.”

Proto stood outside Kotarou’s door with his heart hammering inside his throat. He had Emiya’s cookies on a plate, the insane amount of horror movies CasCu had shoved into his arms stuffed into a bag, and all his nerves tap dancing inside his head. It was now or never, he had to knock on the door. He had too. He reached up, his knuckles hit wood, then the door swung open to reveal Kotarou’s slightly flushed face. Proto swallowed hard, his hand drifted down. “Hi,” he managed. 

Kotarou glanced up at him, one eye shining through his hair. The Assassin gripped the door tightly, then bit his lip. “Hey.” He whispered, his voice a barely heard thing.

For a second, they both stood there, then Kotarou stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. There was an awkward moment where Proto danced backwards so they didn’t run into each other and Kotarou snagged out to grab the plate of cookies, then they were facing each other, silence painful between them. Slowly, Kotarou spoke. “Ah . . . where are we . . . ah . . . going?”

Proto shook himself. “It’s a secret. Come on, the walls have ears.” He grinned, winked at Kotarou, then started down the hall, trying to force down the bubble of panic that tried to blossom in his throat. He needed to calm down, it would be fine. He really, really needed to calm down, but the word ‘date’ kept on circling over and over in his head. This wasn’t a date, it was an almost date. There was a difference.

His heart didn’t seem to agree.

“Ah . . . what’s the bag for?” Kotarou asked softly, reaching around him to poke the bag. Proto nearly jumped in surprise, his heart kicking up before attempting to give out. 

“CasCu got wind of this and ended up giving me a whole bunch of movies.” He made a face, strangled down his embarrassment. “We don’t have to watch all of them, but at least there’s options now!”

“Ah . . . hai.” Kotarou moved the plate from one hand to the other, then glanced up at him. “Ah . . . the flower crown from . . . ah . . . earlier, what was . . . ah . . . that about?” He glanced away again, his cheeks tinged red, and for some reason some of Proto’s nervousness eased. Kotarou was nervous about this too, it wasn’t just him. 

He grinned and bumped the Assassin with his elbow. Yes, they were both nervous. He could work with that. “Oh, the flower crown? Fran was messing around. She mentioned that she was going to make one for you too.” Kotarou tilted his head slightly, and Proto’s grin widened. “I think you’d look good in it.”

“Ah!” Kotarou looked away, his face flaming. “Ah . . . thanks.” His voice was small and tiny and embarrassed and Proto felt everything align. Maybe CasCu had been right about upping his game. He couldn’t kiss Kotarou, not yet, but flirting . . .

“So,” he said casually as if the question wasn’t plaguing his mind. “How did I look in mine? I’ll admit, I wasn’t positive about it, but maybe you have some insight?”

For a moment Kotarou was quiet, and when he did speak, his answer was almost lost beneath the pounding of Proto’s heart. “Good. Ah . . . you looked good.”

Heat exploded across Proto’s cheeks. His feet forgot how walking worked, caught, tripped. Kotarou reached out, his fingers snagging Proto’s shirt, stopping his face from meeting the metal floor. For a moment they stood there, wavered, then regained their balance. “Thanks.” Proto choked out, “I’m glad you think so.” Shit, fuck, no more flirting. Flirting was a bad idea. A very bad, very, very bad idea.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, faces flaming, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“This is Tomoe’s room.” Kotarou said when they entered. 

Proto, who had held the door open for him, glanced down the hallway just in case they were being followed, then shut the door. “You know her?”

“Ah . . . hai. I’ve heard of her.” Kotarou glanced around curiously. “She has a reputation. How did you get her to give up her room?” He placed the cookies on the table and sat down.

“It was Fran actually.” Proto walked over and upturned the bag onto the table. DVD containers scattered across the wood. He knelt on the floor and began to sort through them. “She was remarkably calm. I’d expected, I don’t know, more rampages from what I’d heard.”

Kotarou made a soft noise and shifted to pear over Proto’s shoulder. Proto was keenly aware of his presence, the sound of his breath, how his chin almost brushed his shoulder. He should have worn a tank top, or would that have been trying too hard? Shit he didn’t know. “Ah . . . she has Madness Enhancement.”

Proto glanced at him, taking in the slight tilt of Kotaoru’s head, the way the light glinted off his hair. He swallowed dryly. “She does?” 

Kotarou bit his lip and nodded. “Hai. She uses the video games to help control it. That’s . . . ah . . . what I heard at least.” He reached over and poked one of the DVD cases, shifting it so he could read the title. It was such a small action, but Proto felt a burst of affection bubble up in him at the sight. Kotarou glanced at him, eyes just visible behind his bangs. “What are our options?” 

Proto gave into the urge and leaned slightly towards him. His arm pressed against Kotaoru’s own. “Well, we have slashers, which are basically gore with a side of scare. We have creepy shit like people being possessed. We have ghost stories. We have weird psychological horrors.” He gestured at the array of options before them. “Choose wisely Kotaoru! My horror movie night is in your care.” He grinned at the Assassin, ignored the heat burning in his cheeks.

Kotarou blinked at him, then glanced at the options. “Ah . . . probably not slasher, and probably not psychological . . . ah . . . how about this one?” He pointed at The Exorcist, glancing at Proto through his bangs.

Proto swallowed hard. Shit. He remembered The Exorcist, or at least vague memories of it. But for Kotarou, it would be fine. He’d be fine. “Yeah, that works.” He stood up, grabbing the film, and Kotarou shifted around on the couch, moving so his back was against the armrest. The couch was big enough for them to stretch out without touching each other, and Proto could have cursed. Should have switched it out with a smaller couch. But it was too late now. He turned away and put the movie into the DVD player.

“Ah . . . have you seen this one?”

Proto turned and rubbed at his hair, grinning awkwardly. “You caught me.”

Kotarou bit his lip. “Then . . . ah . . . do you mind if I talk through it?” He hesitated, then rushed out, “Of course if you -”

“No no no!” Proto blurted out, waving his hands wildly around. “Please talk if you want to! I really like hearing your voice! You have a nice voice after all! Very nice.” He coughed into his fist, glanced away, then glanced back. Kotarou had frozen, his cheeks painted red, and Proto could feel a grin stretch across his face. “What, did you forget my promise to shower you with compliments until you no longer froze up at them?”

Kotarou made a sharp noise. Proto could hear the advertisements start to roll, but it was a distant sound, because all that mattered was Kotarou’s flushed face and rapid mutters. “Ah . . . no . . . I . . . ah . . . no?” He buried his face into his hands and made a small, confused noise into his palms.

Proto swallowed hard and flopped down onto his end of the couch, stretching out as far as he possibly was able. He could just touch Kotarou’s leg with his foot, and that ability gave him a wild sense of pleasure. Apparently the couch wasn’t as large as it looked. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Well I didn’t. You have a very nice voice Kotarou, I would be happy to listen to it all night if need be.” He grinned at him. 

Kotarou uncurled slightly and lifted his head from his hands. “Oh.” he said, impossibly softly, and Proto could feel his own grin melt in answer. Then Kotarou shifted slightly, turned his face towards the tv. “Ah . . . Proto,” his voice was very hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“I . . . you have a nice voice too.”

Proto froze, blinking blankly at Kotarou’s form. The words didn’t want to work through his brain. Kotarou thought he had a nice voice. Kotarou thought he had a nice voice. He didn’t . . . he didn’t know what to do with this information. All he could do was stare at Kotarou, curled up in his seat, one leg stretched out, foot bumping against Proto’s own. His other leg was bent, his arms loosely wrapped around it. His face was turned to the screen, the light from the advertisements playing over the profile of his face, dancing across his bare arms and picking out his tattoo. 

“Ah . . . the movie’s about to start.”

Proto blinked back into existence, heat flaring across his face. He jerked his head to the screen, noticed that the movie had gone to the menu screen. With numb fingers, he reached over and grabbed the remote. Pressed play. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream. Kotaoru couldn’t have actually complemented his voice, that was impossible. But . . . but . . . he glanced back at Kotarou again and swallowed hard. He really had complimented his voice. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

“They got the demon wrong.” Kotarou said softly. “Pazuzu was a demon, but he was often prayed upon as a protector. It’s not really like Satanism.”

Proto glanced at the screen, then back at Kotarou. Kotaoru was much more interesting than the movie. “You know a lot about Mesepotanian myths.”

He nodded, red hair shifting slightly. “I read the epic of Gilgamesh when he was summoned. And I have been researching Babylonian myths for the upcoming Singularity.” He shifted, his mouth twisting slightly. “Gudako is going to Rayshift tomorrow.”

Proto blinked. “Already?”

Kotarou nodded. “We’re so close Proto,” he turned and met Proto’s eyes, red burning behind their veil of hair. “It would be foolish to wait much longer. I wish . . .” he trailed off, reaching up and touching his bandaged neck. “I gave Gudako what I found out about Babylonian culture. And I gave her and Mash a couple of parachutes. Just in case.”

Proto grinned softly at him. “Hey, you almost died. There’s no shame in sitting this one out. And at least you’re looking after them the best way you can. You’re very good at preparing people for what could be coming.”

Kotarou flushed and looked away. “Ah . . . thanks.” He mumbled, sinking further against his armrest. 

Proto watched him from between his lashes, it was still early into the movie, he didn’t have to pay attention yet. Instead he let Kotaoru’s voice wash over him, watched as Kotarou unlaced his fingers and began to wave his hands around as he explained the differences between the worship of Pazuzu and the demonic entity that had been hinted at. He fell silent at the Ouija board though, head tilted slightly to the side. “Ah, that’s probably not good.” 

Proto tried to check back into the movie. “Nope. Want a cookie?” 

“Hai, please.” 

Proto pushed himself up and unwrapped the plate, listening to the crackle of plastic. He grabbed one for himself, then passed one over to Kotarou, trying not to freak out when their fingers touched. “Here you go!” He managed, grinning. 

“Ah . . . thank you.” Kotarou nibbled the edge of his cookie, then said. “The musical score is what’s used to make the movie scary. The content is just one part, and so are the effects, but the key is in the music.”

Proto finished his cookie in a few bites and pushed himself up, leaning forwards. “Kotarou,” he said, grinning, and Kotarou glanced at him, “have I ever told you how smart you are? Because it took me forever to figure that out, and here we are, roughly thirty minutes into the movie you’ve already figured out the trick. You are very, very smart.”

Kotarou flushed, hard this time. “I . . . ah . . . no . . . I’m . . . really I’m not . . . ah . . .”

Proto couldn’t help it, he laughed, the sound spilling from his lips. Kotarou flushed harder and glanced away, fiddling with his cookie. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to deny compliments.”

Kotarou froze.

Proto froze.

He flooded his cheeks. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that, he hadn’t meant to say that at all. CasCu’s dumb advice must have been gnawing at his subconsciousness. But he wasn’t going to take it back now. So he lifted his chin and grinned as if his cheeks weren’t moments from falling off. 

Kotarou set the cookie aside, leaning over to place it on the table. He looked at Proto, his eyes bright behind his bangs. Each movement was slow and deliberate. “I,” he said slowly, “am not cute.”

Proto stared right back at him. “Kotarou, you’re cute.”

Kotarou flushed. “No I’m not.” This time his voice was just a tad more desperate, a bit wilder, the crackle a touch more present.

Proto felt his grin widen, he leaned forwards, tried to keep his eyes on Kotaoru’s. “Yes, Kotarou, you are. You are undeniably cute.”

“I’m not!”

“You are too.”

“I am not!”

“You are tmph!” 

Kotaoru lunged forwards, his hands slapping over Proto’s mouth. Proto unbalanced, fell back, felt his breath whoosh out as the Assassin landed on top of him. Kotarou glared down at him, face framed by his red hair, eyes blazing, cheeks red, voice gritted out. “I. Am. Not. Cute.” 

Proto worked his jaw, then managed to speak. “Fine.” He mumbled, voice muffled by Kotarou’s hand. He could feel his lips scrape against the calluses on Kotarou’s palm, and he wondered if Kotarou felt it too. “You’re not cute.”

Kotarou’s face relaxed slightly, he began to move away.

“You’re adorable.”

Kotarou made a sound in the back of his through, something caught between the whistle of a teapot and a cry of disbelief. He opened his mouth, probably to deny the truth vehemently, but he never got the chance. Someone screamed. Proto jumped, cursing, arms flailing. His head hit something hard, white burst across his vision, then a weight lifted from his chest. He blinked the spots from his vision, stared wildly at Kotarou, who held a hand to his head and was blinking in a befuddled sort of way. As one, they turned to the screen.

“Shit.” Proto mumbled, still feeling the ghost of Kotarou’s hands against his lips, “forgot about the movie.” He swallowed awkwardly.

“Hai.” Kotarou mumbled. “Me too.” He glanced at Proto, then his face flamed. He scrambled back to his side of the couch.

Proto shook his head and glanced at him. “Are you okay? I thought I -”

“Hai, I’m fine.” He pushed some of his hair back slightly, revealing a slightly red mark. “Ah . . . that’s all, really.”

Proto lunged forwards, stopping himself just in time to jerk his hands away from the red patch of skin. “Shit, I’m sorry Kotarou.”

Kotarou shook his head slightly. “No, I . . . ah . . . it’s fine.” He smiled hesitantly, and Proto felt his heart leapt into his throat. “I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about . . .” He trailed off and grimaced.

“May I?” He asked carefully, and Kotarou glanced up at him, startled. He took that as an affirmative and traced naudiz across Kotarou’s forehead. He swallowed hard, the last time he’d traced his wound, Kotarou had been dying. “There we go!” He forced a grin, moved slightly away, “All better!”

Kotarou reached up and touched his forehead. “Ah . . . hai. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He hesitated, then added, softly. “Does it really bother you? Being called cute?”

Kotarou flushed and glanced away. His hair fell to cover his face again. “I . . . am not cute.” He mumbled.

But he was. Kotarou was one hundred percent certified cute. Proto ducked his head and grinned. “We should probably focus on the movie, shouldn’t we?”

“Ah . . . hai.”

Proto retreated to his end of the couch, and returned to switching his gaze between the screen and Kotarou.

Proto was not CasCu. He did not inhale horror movies every night in an attempt to escape sleep. The one time he’d seen the Exorcist was after Cu had been summoned, and CasCu had been adamant about them watching it together as a “bonding exercise”. It had not been a fun night, and Proto had blocked most of it, and the movie, from his mind. He’d been left only with the feeling of unease and terror towards the name The Exorcist. So he was mostly unprepared when things started turning from marginably creepy to worse. 

After the third half strangled screech, Proto realized the game was up. He glanced at Kotarou nervously. “So,” he laughed awkwardly and fell silent, then stared at his hands.

Kotarou hadn’t been faring well himself, but he hadn’t screamed once yet. “Ah . . .” Kotarou bit his lip, “This is . . . ah . . . a very large couch.”

“Yeah! Exactly!” Proto uncurled himself from the corner and crawled towards the center. “So I’m just going to sit right here and yeah, that’s all.” He stared at his hands again, clenched them tightly. “I need a pillow.”

“I thought that being able to tell when the scares were coming would help, but it really doesn’t.” Kotaoru bit his lip, then shifted around so he was a few inches away from Proto. “It is pretty unnerving.”

Proto nodded. “Yeah, yeah that’s what I wa - OH SHIT!” He jumped sideways, grabbed onto Kotarou’s arm. “Watch the movie CasCu said. It will be fun, he said. I’m going to punch my older self tomorrow, this movie is the fucking absolute WORST.”

Kotarou chuckled softly, and the sound sent tingles skittering across Proto’s skin. “Hai. It is pretty bad.” He hesitated, then leaned against Proto’s side. Proto almost swallowed his tongue. “I kind of want to watch another one.”

“Another one!” Proto squealed, flinching as something he didn’t even want to describe happened on screen.

Kotarou nodded. “Hai, another one. Only if you want to, of course.” 

Proto gazed at him. “Kotarou, I would watch this Lugh be damned movie a hundred times if you wanted me to.” 

Kotarou opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned his gaze towards the screen, red dappling his cheeks. “Then . . . ah . . . let's watch another. Please.”

Carefully, Proto pried his fingers from Kotarou’s arm. “Of course, I can manage another.” He forced his gaze back to the screen, clenched the fabric of his jeans between his fingers.

Kotarou pressed against his side, rested his head against Proto’s shoulder, and everything in Proto's body froze up. “Thank you . . . ah . . . for this.” He jumped slightly, and Proto bit back a screech. “I . . . ah . . . am enjoying myself.”

Proto swallowed hard. “I’m glad you are. And Kotarou? I’m enjoying myself too.” 

Together, they turned back to the movie and the horrors that awaited them as the night progressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fran’s Flower Crown KO Fuuma, poor ninja has no clue how to cope.  
> Does Proto survive through the night? Tune in next week on Really long name I don’t want to spell out.
> 
> ALSO I GOT MORDRED ON HIS RATE UP I'M SO HAPPY FINALLY MY BOY’S COME HOME!!! That also means I have the whole Teenaged Terror’s squad in game. Now I just need Achilles and Lily and the Chaos Crew will be complete!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night take two! Mordred is very confused! Medusa for MVP! Marie for second MVP! Kotarou v feelings, who will win?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this could also be considered a valantines thing? Eh? ANYWAY holy smokes we're heeerrrreeeee! It's the end! (of glory and I'm hanging on this moment with you) *cough* okay, focusing now, THANK YOU to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos on this fic! You all are the absolute best ever! I hope you enjoy this final chapter and have a wonderful day!

Kotarou’s heart was hammering in his chest, beating a loud staccato against his ribcage. His eyes were glued to the screen, mouth dry, fingers clenching Proto’s sleeve. The Lancer clung to him, face buried in Kotarou’s neck, swearing softly with each new development. Kotarou had long since stopped talking, it was harder to keep track of inaccuracies when the movie was designed specifically to scare the audience out of their wits. This one had better animation than the Exorcist, but it didn’t have as many jump scares. Still, Kotarou was afraid to pull his eyes from the screen for too long. 

Horror movie makers would be good at psychological warfare. Perhaps a particularly famous one could be summoned. If they could unnerve their enemy before confronting them, that would be just one more advantage on their side.

“You,” Proto mumbled, “are so fucking lucky.”

Kotarou swallowed. It was odd, having Proto cling to him like this. The Lancer had been at it for a while now, arms wrapped tight around Kotarou’s waist, Kotarou half in, half out of his lap. Kotarou could feel Proto’s warmth sinking into his skin, his warm breath as it rushed against his skin, the silky feel of Proto’s shirt under his own fingers. His face hurt from flushing, but this was . . . nice. The cookies had been especially good as well, a far cry then his own manjuu. He would have to do this more often. 

“Lucky?” He asked, leaning back slightly against Proto’s shoulder. After everything that had happened, he didn’t feel lucky.

“Yeah, lucky. Eeegh are they opening up her ribcage? By Lugh that’s disgusting.”

Kotarou tipped his head slightly, and his head knocked gently against Proto’s. “It’s an autopsy, that’s what happens during autopsies.”

“Dumb assess, all of them, should have just left when they had the chance.” Proto grumbled, and Kotarou could feel the reverberations of his voice against his back. He bit his lip and nodded, fingers spasming as a flower was pulled from the corpse’s insides. Proto made another disgusted noise.

“At least they got the flower’s properties correct.” Kotarou pointed out, glad to grasp that one little fact despite the distractions trying to occupy his mind. “Although paralization is a bit of a stretch. Jimsonweed can be used as a paralyzing agent, but most often it is used to induce hallucinations. Toxin levels also vary from plant to plant, as well as from leaf to leaf and petal to petal, so one that is able to paralyze without killing the victim would be hard to get.” He hissed at the list of trauma’s the corpse had gone through. “With that much damage the Jimsonweed should have killed her, although I suppose with a small enough dose it could have inflicted just paralization with that level of injuries.”

“Kotarou,” Proto said, and Kotarou shifted uncomfortably. Proto was saying his name in ‘that way’ again, the one he seemed to use right before complimenting him. “The amount of random stuff you know is absolutely mind boggling.”

Kotarou felt his cheeks heat up. “Ah . . .”

“That’s a good thing.” Proto added, his voice a bit rushed. “I like having my mind boggled, especially by you.” 

With effort Kotarou did not look at Proto. He did not want to see those warm red eyes, or that delighted grin directed in his direction. Instead, he chewed on his lip and tried to figure out how he had managed to get into this situation. Normally he didn’t enjoy being touched, and he wasn’t sure why it was so different with Proto, because obviously it was. He was sitting here, practically in Proto’s lap, as the people on the screen peeled back the corpse’s skin to reveal the writing beneath. Although, perhaps that was why he was okay with this level of touch. There was something about being scared witless that helped drop his defenses.

The lights on the screen blew.

Proto shrieked in surprise. Kotarou jumped back, summoning his kunai. For a moment, they stayed like that, half frozen, Kotarou practically standing, blades in hand, Proto with his fingers digging into his sides. He sucked in a deep breath, air fluttering in the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly. “Oh. Ah . . . just the movie.” He laughed nervously and dismissed his kunai. He hadn’t been paying attention, not like he should have been. Proto was taking up too much space in his mind. 

“Yeah.” Proto squeaked. “Can you sit back down please? It’s kind of hard to cling to you when you’re standing.” 

Kotarou flushed. Clinging, it was an adequate word for what Proto was doing, but for some reason it made Kotarou think of snuggling and he didn’t like the way the very thought of snuggling and Proto in the same sentence made his heart stutter painfully. That couldn’t be healthy. Still, clinging apparently helped with horror movies, although that might simply be because he was there, sharing the experience. He bit his lip. “Ah . . . hai.” He sat down and returned his fingers to Proto’s sleeve. 

Proto pressed his face against Kotarou’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “For letting me hold on like this.” He laughed awkwardly, and Kotarou swallowed. “I think I overestimated my capabilities here.”

Kotarou sucked in a harsh breath. “No . . . ah . . . you’re fine.” He hissed at the screen, fingers digging into Proto’s arm. “They should have left earlier. They really, really should have left earlier.”

"I am more concerned about the missing bodies.” Proto grumbled, moving his head so his chin rested on Kotarou’s shoulder. His voice rumbled by Kotarou’s ear. “That’s never a good sign. If the bodies come from nowhere and attack them then I’m out of here.”

Kotarou glanced at Proto from the corner of his eye, and caught the Lancer’s shaky grin. “Hai, it’s not. And I wouldn’t blame you.” He turned his head slightly and attempted a smile in Proto’s direction. Proto flushed and jerked his blazing red eyes towards the screen. For a moment, Kotarou watched him, glad for the bangs that hid his gaze. Proto had long lashes, how had he never noticed that before? It seemed important somehow.

There was a crash, a cry of pain and terror, Kotarou jerked his gaze away from Proto’s too close face, heart leaping in his throat, fingers clawing against Proto’s sleeve. The movie. He had to stay focused on the movie. Why was he having so much trouble staying focused on the movie? Proto made a sharp noise in his throat and returned to burying his head against Kotarou’s neck, swearing softly. Kotarou chewed the inside of his cheek, fought back the feeling of Proto’s body pressed against his own, and forced his eyes on the screen. No more distractions. He could not allow any more distractions. 

Things only got worse. Kotarou was starting to think that was the same for all horror movies. But finally, they were in the clear, the credits rolling as if that last little scene had promised more horror to come. Kotarou worked his jaw then said softly, “Ah . . . I don’t think I want to watch another one.”

“Good.” Came Proto’s muffled reply, “Because I really, really do not want to watch a third.”

Kotarou bit back a small laugh and worked his fingers loose from the knot he’d left in Proto’s sleeve. Proto seemed in no hurry to let go, Kotarou could feel the heat from his hands even through two layers, the press of his fingers against his side. Somehow, he couldn’t be bothered to care, it was nice. This was nice. He leaned back into Proto’s grip and closed his eyes, letting the tension in his shoulders ease. Proto made a strangled noise, then shifted slightly. The grip around Kotarou’s waist loosened, but didn’t let go.

“This was . . . ah . . . fun,” he said carefully. “I wouldn’t . . . ah . . . I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”

He heard Proto suck in a harsh breath, then his face lifted from Kotarou’s neck and his chin was once again on Kotarou’s shoulder. “You,” Proto said carefully, his voice very warm, “are going to be the death of me.”

Kotarou froze. For a moment, the image of Proto, hanging suspended from  _ his  _ hand rose in his mind. He battled it down. Proto was alive, with him, right now. One hundred percent alive, impossibly close, warm and breathing and speaking. Not dead. “I won’t allow that to happen.” He said softly, cracking his eyes open. He watched the words play on the tv screen, the shape of Proto’s profile beside him. 

Proto grinned, all bright white teeth and delight. The fear the horror movies had instilled seemed to have been swept away, the awkwardness he’d been displaying earlier gone as if never been. Kotarou liked that grin, it made everything seem right with the world. He felt his own lips tug upwards in return. “I believe you.” For a second his arms tightened around Kotarou’s waist, and his next words were very soft. “And Kotarou, I won’t let anything like what happened before happen to you again. I promise you that.”

Kotarou swallowed hard. It was a silly promise, but a bubble of warmth was attempting to worm it’s way through his chest. He bit his lip. “Ah . . . thank you Proto.”

“You’re welcome.” He fell silent, and Kotarou allowed his eyes to flutter shut again. He listened to Proto’s breathing. The sound was soft and steady beside his ears. He felt the rise and fall of Proto’s chest against his back, his legs were he sat on them, although the Lancer hadn’t complained about his weight. Proto’s arms grew looser until they rested lightly around his waist. Kotarou carefully let one hand rest on Proto’s forearm, the other curled loosely in his own lap. Despite the music that still played from the tv, despite the horrors that their night of movies had brung, he felt himself relax fully. 

“Proto . . .” He mumbled. 

“Hm?” It was a soft hum. For some odd reason the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Kotarou swallowed. “Thank you.”

Proto laughed, and Kotarou’s stomach fluttered. Couldn’t be healthy. He’d have to bring that up with Nightingale tomorrow. “You’ve already said that, you know.”

Kotarou felt his lips curl into a smile. “Hai, but it bears repeating. I . . . I needed this . . . I think.”

Proto made a small noise in his throat. Kotarou felt his head rest against his own, “Good. I’m glad. I was hoping you’d enjoy this.”

Kotarou hummed softly in reply, listening to Proto’s breathing. It was a calming sound, nice and relaxing, he liked the sound of it. It was nice to have friends, nice to have Proto as a friend.

“ _ OKAY, _ LOOK  _ HERE,  _ I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR FUCKING  _ FOREVER  _ FOR KOTAROU TO GET HIS ASS TO THE SIMU - HOLY FUCKING  _ SHIT  _ ARE YOU TWO  _ SNUGGLING _ ?!”

A bucket of cold water could not have been more effective. 

Kotarou jerked out of Proto’s grip, tumbled to the floor, barely dodged the table, and popped back up in his armor and with kunai in his grip. Proto jumped to his feet, twisted, tripped. Kotarou dropped his kunai and lunged forwards, across the table, catching him just in time. They froze like that, Proto precariously balanced, Kotarou holding him up with the table digging into his hip. Kotarou could feel his heartbeat pulsing through his limbs. Panic filled the back of his throat.

Mordred stood in the doorway, jaw swinging, hair a tangled mess. He blinked, then a grin crawled across his face. He burst out laughing, so violently he fell against the door frame. “Holy  _ shit  _ you two!” He gasped out. “You would  _ think  _ you’d been doing something  _ besides  _ snuggling! Holy  _ fucking  _ shit!”   
Kotarou flushed, and he could see the same heat crawling over Proto’s face. “Mordred,” the Lancer growled out, righting himself and running his hands over his blue hair, “you are dead meat.”

Kotarou stepped back, dismissing his armor. His eyes flicked between Proto’s flushed cheeks and scowl to Mordred’s wide grin. He felt . . . he didn’t know. Lost, a bit confused. Embarrassed. Embarrassed was a good description of how he was feeling. 

“Come  _ on _ ,” Mordred slapped the doorway and stepped inside, “The door was unlocked,  _ anyone  _ could have walked inside. You’re fucking  _ lucky  _ it was me.”

Proto paled. “Are they out there?”

Mordred snorted. “I’ve seen no hide nor hair from your older selves tonight Proto.” He glanced at Kotarou and grinned. “You coming or not? Or do you want to stay here and snuggle some more?”

Kotarou grabbed his hood and pulled it over his head, desperately trying to hide the searing heat in his face. He glanced at Proto through his bangs. The Lancer had turned to watch him, red eyes very wide, his hair glinting softly with the light. Kotarou bit his lip. “Ah . . . hai. I’ll come. Ah . . .” He opened his mouth and closed it again. Snuggling. They really had been snuggling. Why was that realization making his chest feel so tight?

Nightingale, first thing in the morning. Perhaps there was something wrong with his Spirit Origen, or perhaps there was lingering damage from his brush with death. It was doubtful that Nightingale would have missed such a thing, but he couldn’t take any chances. 

“You go on ahead Kotarou,” Proto said, his voice warm. He grinned, something very soft. “I’ll see you around.”

“Would you like to come?” Kotarou blurted out. He winced at Mordred’s snort of amusement and Proto’s widening eyes. “Ah . . . I mean . . . ah . . . Mordred doesn’t have a . . . ah . . . anyone to run the simulations with . . . and . . . ah . . . you like fighting so . . .” He gave up and fidgeted with his fingers, glaring at the floor.

_ “Yeah!” _ Morded put his hands on his hips and leaned forwards slightly. “You can show off too!”

The flush returned to Proto’s face, dappling his cheeks and tinting his ears. “No,” it was a strangled noise, “I’m good.” He glanced back at Kotarou, his eyes impossibly warm. “Good night.”

“Ah . . . hai. You too.” 

Proto left the room, bumping into Mordred on the way out while muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘asshole.’ Kotarou watched him go, torn between lunging forwards and asking him to stay and letting him get some sleep. Mordred’s laugh disrupted his thoughts. He jerked his gaze away from the empty doorway and towards the Saber. “Come  _ on _ !” Mordred crowed. He straightened and slammed a fist into his palm. “Let’s  _ fight  _ shit!”

Mordred waited until they were safely in the simulator before saying, “ _ So, _ snuggling. Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type to snuggle.”

With effort, Kotarou ignored him and focused on the control panel. His cheeks were hurting. His chest felt odd when Mordred said snuggles, tight and warm and not altogether unpleasant. Still . . . he shook his head. Focus. He had to focus. “What simulation do you want to run?”

Mordred made an indignant noise. “ _ Are _ you  _ ignoring  _ me?”

Kotarou turned to stare at him. Mordred had already summoned his armor, and he didn’t look angry, just aggressive. Mordred almost always looked aggressive though. He sighed. “No . . . ah . . . we were not snuggling. Proto was . . . ah . . . clinging to me because of the movie.”

Mordred tossed his hands into the air. “The movie was  _ over _ ! You were  _ snuggling _ ! There is no other word for it!”

Kotarou glanced away from Mordred’s incredulous gaze. He drew a kunai, began to fidget. He, yes it had been snuggling. Yes, he had been . . . snuggling with Proto. But whatever that thought was doing to his chest couldn’t possibly be healthy, and he refused to inflame whatever problem he had until Nightingale had the chance to check him. “Simulation, Mordred.”

The Saber groaned. “ _ Fine _ . I dunno, throw up some dragon tooth warriors.” Dragon tooth warriors, something Mordred could easily take on while talking. Still he keyed the situation in. The walls of the simulation room shimmered, grassy fields, the hint of the ocean in the distance. Dragon tooth warriors rose from the ground, shark-like jaws chattering. Mordred was on them in a burst of red lightning and an explosion of wild laughter.

Kotarou watched the fight. The dragon tooth warriors were too brittle, even for Mordred’s strikes, and although Mordred’s fighting style was as chaotic and surprising as usual, Kotarou could feel his thoughts drifting. He needed to pin down the time he’d started getting this weird chest ache for Nightingale. It was . . . when? It had been very prevalent during the horror movies, so perhaps there wasn’t something wrong with his Spirit Origin and it had simply been the horror movies. Still, better to mention it just in case.

“ _ So _ ,” Mordred said, kicking one dragon tooth warrior to smithereens. “Was it nice?”

Kotarou blinked out trying to track when the chest squeezes had begun and asked. “Ah . . . was what nice?”

“Your  _ snuggles  _ with Proto.” Mordred growled, blade crashing through two more. They really were too brittle, he’d have to bring that up with Da Vinci. When had been the last time he’d run this -

Mordred’s words caught up to him. He swallowed and bit his lip, fought back the flush that rose. “Ah . . . hai.” He mumbled, staring at the ground. The grass bent as if by a breeze. The green glinted faintly gold with the sun’s rays. “It was . . . ah . . . nice.”

Mordred snorted, his fist snapped against the side of a dragon tooth warrior's head. “I mean, I  _ assume  _ it was nice, or some shit like that. I’m still trying to figure out  _ why _ .” A burst of red light, three more skeletons disintegrated. “You never struck me as someone who likes touching. But there you fucking were, on his lap and looking like you where about to fall  _ asleep _ .”

Kotarou blinked. Had he been about to sleep? He’d just been listening to Proto’s breathing, letting his warmth sink into his own skin. It had been relaxing. Comforting, now that he thought about it. He bit his lip. And . . . that hadn’t been the first time Proto’s touch had been comforting. On Bartholomew’s ship, Proto’s touch had been comforting. And their hugs. Those had been nice too. 

“Ah . . . Mordred.”

There was a grunt of effort, then came the reply, “Yeah?”

Kotarou touched his cheek. His skin was hot against his fingers, and his forehead was the same. For a moment, he thought he could feel Proto's fingers against forehead, and could see his concerned red eyes. He touched his chest, that odd tight feeling that seemed to be wrapping around his sternum and setting his stomach fluttering. His heart had been acting weird too , it had definitely skipped a couple beats yesterday, when he had seen Proto in that flower crown. He glanced up at Mordred and bit his lip. “I . . . ah . . . I think I’m sick.”

Nightingale never left the infirmary, and for that Kotarou was thankful. He was sick. Possible fever, erratic heart beat, something akin to nausea. With his recent injuries, he didn’t want to take the chance, and Nightingale was good at finding problems. Her solutions might have been extreme, but she was good at finding problems. 

He opened the infirmary doors and stepped inside. The place was mostly dark. The only light came from Nightingale’s office. He picked his way through the waiting room and knocked carefully on her door, lacing his hands in front of him. Mordred had decided not to come, using Kotarou’s sickness as an excuse. Kotarou didn’t blame him. Nightingale was likely to quarantine Mordred just in case Kotarou was sick, and Mordred in quarantine was not a good idea.

The figure inside shifted, the door opened. Nightingale looked down at him, her red eyes glowing dimly through the gloom, her pale hair catching the light from the office. “Fuuma. You are not supposed to be here until lunch tomorrow. Was there a development?”

“Hai. I’ve been feeling off.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Room three. I’ll collect my things and be there shortly.”

Room three was not the room he’d been in previously. The bed was higher up, he could sit on the side and his toes wouldn’t touch the floor. An examination room, not a room for long term patients. He waited carefully, thoughts flicking around and around and around. He was a Servant. Servants should not get sick. But how else could he explain how he’d been feeling? Proto was his friend, but so was Mordred, and he didn’t feel so off when he was around Mordred. 

If he was really sick, that meant there was a good chance that Proto had it too.

Kotarou tilted his head slightly. Proto, sick? No, he was a demigod. Having the blood of Lugh seemed like a good way to stave off sickness. And he was so warm, it would have been impossible to tell if he had a fever. Then again, if he was sick, then anything went. A sickness that struck down a Servant was more powerful then any sickness he’d heard of. And for Gudako . . . that would kill her. 

He gripped his fingers tightly and hoped that he was wrong, that he wasn’t sick. 

Nightingale entered, clipboard in hand. She set it down, pulled on her gloves, then picked up her pen. “Symptoms.” It wasn’t a question.

“Erratic heartbeat, tightness in chest, nauseousness. Possible fever.” She sent him a glare and he ducked his head. “I am not sure. I . . . ah . . . I blush a lot.”

“Aching in joints?”

“No.”

“Coughing?”

“No.”

“Sneezing?”

“No.”

“Shortness of breath?” He hesitated for a moment, unsure, but Nightingale took his pause as affirmation. She scribbled something across her board. “Dizzy spells.” Another hesitation, another mark. “Headaches?”

“No.”

“Ringing in ears?”

“No.”

“Diarrhea?”

“No.”

The list went on and on. Finally, she stopped, fixing him with her red eyed glare. The same color as Proto’s but so different. Hers had all the warmth drained, cold and clinical. Proto’s eyes couldn’t be cold if he tried, always burning with something. “Fuuma, you are not sick.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, that was good.

“But there are many other possible causes of your symptoms. A heart disease. Arrhythmia. However you had neither of these conditions in life and it is doubtful you would have developed them in death. Anxiety is a more likely cause. You have suffered greatly from your recent trials.” She stood. “Despite this, I will check your heart, in case something has developed. To do that I will do a TAVR Heart Procedure. Please stay still until I have the proper supplies. If you refuse I will shoot you.”

“That won’t be necessary!” The words burst out in a desperate rush. He bit his lip. “Ah . . . we do have a coronary calcium scan, that should reveal anything that is wrong with my heart. Perhaps we could do that before we move on to the . . . more extreme methods.”

For a moment she stared at him, then slowly she nodded. “Very well, we will start from there. However, if there is a defect, I am strapping you to the table and cracking open your ribcage.”

Kotarou winced.

Nightingale gave him a gentle smile. “No worries Fuuma, I will cure you even if it kills you.”

To Nightingale’s disappointment, there was nothing wrong with Kotarou’s heart. Nor was there anything wrong with his Spirit Origin. All of his injuries were almost fully healed. He was in the peak of health for someone who’d almost been dead practically a week ago. 

“Fuuma,” she said, glancing down at her clipboard. “Are there certain times you are feeling these things? In a certain place perhaps, or around a certain thing?”

“Ah . . .”

Her eyes brightened. “So there is something.”

Kotarou bit his lip. “Hai. Ah . . . it . . . these symptoms . . . have been happening around Proto.” He winced. It sounded so ridiculous when he said it like that. He could feel his cheeks heat up at the thought. 

“Has anything changed between the two of you recently?”

Kotarou shifted, glanced at her through his hair. “Uh . . . hai? Recently Proto has been a lot more . . . tactile with me.” He flushed harder. His cheeks were hurting. It really, really sounded stupid when he put it like that. And he didn’t like the way those words came out, slow and halting as if he was admitting to doing something bad. So what if Proto was being tactile with him? Proto was affectionate with a lot of people. 

Nightingale tapped her pen against her clipboard. “Then we have two conclusions we can make. You could be allergic to Proto, which is unlikely. People are not allergic to certain people. So if you do have an allergy, it would be towards a product he’s been using, like shampoo or body wash. We’ll run a few tests. The other option is this.” She set both pen and clipboard down, turned to face him. “You are touch starved.”

Kotarou blinked at her. “I’m what?”

“Touch starved.” She stood and tugged off her gloves. “You are having all these reactions to Proto’s touch because you are unused to being touched. Humans are social creatures, as a general rule, most desire closeness from others. Whether they are brief touches like hand shakes or shoulder claps, or something like hugs, human beings require physical contact. If you do not have that constant contact, you start to crave it. When was the last time you had physical contact before Proto started being more tactile with you?”

Kotarou hesitated. He’d never been one for touching, not really. “Mordred often clasps me on the shoulder.” He offered, “or gives me a gentle punch to the arm. Ah . . . Gudako will sometimes give me a hug.”

“But the contact they give you is not to the level Proto’s is?”

"Ah . . . no.”

Nightingale stuck out her hand. “Take it.”

After a second, he reached out and grabbed it.

“How do you feel?”

Kotarou stared at their hands. Nightingale’s nails had been clipped, her skin was smooth, but calluses were still present. There was no rush of blood to his face, no flip of his heart, no tightness in his chest or nerves going haywire in his stomach. It was simply a hand on his, and the longer they stayed that way, the more he wanted to pull away. He did so. “My apologies but . . . I didn’t get anything from that.”

She considered him for a moment, then nodded. “I am going to take a blood sample to test for allergies. You are free to go, but I suggest you avoid Proto until the results come back. And Fuuma? Look up touch starvation in the library, you might find something that helps you understand what is going on.” She turned away and began to collect her things for the blood sample.

Kotarou let out a slow breath. He wasn’t sick. His heart and Spirit Origin were perfectly okay. He was physically fine. Still, the library was a good idea. Perhaps he would find something there.

The library was more crowded then he’d expected, then again, Nightingale’s tests had taken up a lot of time. It was probably a bit past lunch, maybe even closer to dinner. It didn’t matter. The three essential Servants were there; Anderson at one of the desks, scribbling something on a piece of paper, Shakespear, who had cornered two staff members and was reading from a script, and Medusa, returning books to the shelves. Most came and left, but those three almost never changed. 

He slipped past them and headed towards the medical section. Touch starved . . . he’d never considered the idea before. Danzo had never been big on touch, and after her death, there’d been almost nothing. But after being summoned, well, like he told Nightingale, he’d become accustomed to Mordred’s brisk attention or Gudako’s occasional arm around his shoulder. So, the real question was why it was so different with Proto, because for some reason it was. Maybe it was because the contact with Proto had been longer, perhaps there was another explanation. The simple thing was he didn’t know.

And touch starved seemed as good a place as any to start.

He drifted through the shelves, fingers ghosting along the spines of books, glancing at the numerous volumes. He pulled a couple out and tucked them under his arm. Around him came the quiet shuffling of pages being turned, murmured conversations, footsteps striking softly against the metal floors. He knew this background noise very well from his various trips to the library. He was able to tune the sounds out with ease. He found a table and set his books down, then began to read.

Time ticked by, measured by the soft rustle of paper. The pages were cool beneath his fingers, the inked words dark against the white. It was dense stuff, some case studies on human interaction, the science behind the process. But none of it explained why he might feel weird about Proto’s touch and no one else's. 

“Here, Fuuma.” Something struck the table, there was the clink of cutlery. Kotarou looked up from his book. A teacup sat in front of him, steam rising gently from the surface. He looked up. Medusa stood there, her hair pulled back, glasses balanced on her nose. She was looking at his stack of books, one finger pressed against the top cover. “This is quite a different selection then you normally read.”

“Hai.”

She glanced at him. “Anything I can help with?”

He considered for a moment, chewing his lip. “Ah . . . maybe. What do you know about touch starvation?”

For a moment, Medusa hesitated, then she grabbed a chair and sat down. “That is a very loaded question Fuuma. Why do you need to know?”

“Ah . . . I think I might be touch starved . . . but . . . ah . . . I am not showing all the symptoms? I don’t . . . I don’t like most people touching me. But . . . unless I’m allergic . . . then I don’t know what else is happening.” He ran a thumb over one of the lines in the book. “It is . . . confusing.”

Medusa frowned. “Allergic?”

“Hai. I . . . ah . . .” He flushed. “It is . . . odd. I feel odd.”

“When anyone touches you or when a certain person does?”

“Ah . . . a certain person . . . hence the . . . ah . . . allergic theory.” 

Medusa stared at him. Then she stood, her chair scraping behind her. “Well, you are lucky, I do have an idea of what's going on with you. And no, it's not an allergy.” She collected his pile of books and took the one he was still reading. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Kotarou watched her go, then turned his gaze to the table, watching the lights play off the metal surface. The cup of tea sat tantalizingly close. He picked it up and took a sip, the warmth sinking into his fingers. It seemed odd for Medusa to just know what was going on with him, to figure it out with so few clues while Nightingale and him had spent hours ruling things out. However, Medusa didn’t have such a long list to go through, so perhaps that made it easier.

He sighed and glanced around the library, the rows upon rows of books. Hadn’t Proto said he read occasionally? Hmm . . . he wondered if Proto would enjoy any of the ones he liked. He mostly read from the historical section for research purposes, but sometimes he picked up books from other areas as well. Perhaps Proto would like action novels? It seemed like something he might enjoy. And Kotarou . . . he would enjoy reading in the Lancer’s company, even if Proto didn’t read with him.

Medusa came back, setting a book in front of him. He blinked out of his thoughts, shaking his head as heat seared his cheeks. There had been no reason for him to blush. Absolutely none. Why was he blushing?

“Here,” Medusa said with a touch of amusement, “this should help you sort things out.” She was gone before Kotarou could thank her.

He looked down at the book. It was a thin book, maybe fifty pages or so. The cover was done in soft, pale colors, the letters dark against the pastel background.  _ How to Know if You Are in Love. _

. . .

What?

He stared at the title, frozen. That squeezed chest thing was back, as well as the nerves rattling his stomach. Why . . . why had . . . why this book in particular? Certainly there were others that would be more effective in explaining what was going on with him. Not . . . not something with a title like that. Love . . . it was too abstract a concept. And love in regards to Proto . . . he sucked in a harsh breath, set the cup of tea down, and pressed his hands against his face. His cheeks burned against his palms. His heartbeat raced in his ears, thudded in his pulse. Proto’s face rose in his mind, his warm eyes, his gentle grin, how it had felt to just be there with him, scared witless by the horror movie but enjoying himself nonetheless. It was . . . he was overreacting. 

He had to be overreacting.

He sucked in a deep breath, focused on the air as it filled his lungs. In . . . then out. In . . . then out. In . . . then out. Over and over until he got his flush under control. Medusa was probably wrong, really, it wasn’t . . . possible? Was it? He didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing. He would read the book, if only to check it off the list of things that could explain what was going on with him.

And it was for that reason, and that reason only, that he reached out and cracked the book open.

Kotarou was starting to fear that Medusa was on to something. With each page he turned, with each word he read, things started to click just a little bit more. Feeling safe and comfortable near that person? He did feel comfortable around Proto, comfortable enough to drop his guard so that even Mordred could sneak up on him. Mordred, who was horrible at sneaking up on people. The odd sick feeling when they touched, adrenaline and nerves. Enjoying being near that person . . . he did enjoy being near Proto. Even when they weren’t talking, even when they were. Proto made him . . . feel . . . seen and safe. And he cared. And Kotarou didn’t want Proto to be hurt, and he didn’t want Proto to be unhappy, and he didn’t want Proto to be afraid. And . . . it was all too much, swirling around and around in his head. How was he . . . how was he supposed to deal with this?

He couldn’t. 

He needed a space to breath, to think, to allow his thoughts to settle. He closed the book, and stood, took it and his cup of tea to the desk. “Ah . . . thank you for showing me this.” He didn’t wait for Medusa’s reply, just sat the book and the tea down, then ran. 

He tried his room first, but  _ his  _ tachi glittered on the wall, polished until it shone. He’d rearranged his weapon collection again yesterday, and now each and every weapon radiated out from it, the new center of his decorations. He took one look at the tachi, and this time it wasn’t  _ his  _ face that rose into his mind, this time it wasn’t some conflicted feeling of what he would become and who he was now, this time it was Proto. Proto, who had gone back. Proto, who had faced the flames to grab the blade because Kotarou had mumbled that it would be a shame for it to be destroyed. He couldn’t think straight with the tachi there in front of him, clear evidence that Proto cared.

He tried the simulation room next, but Mordred wasn’t there because it was daytime. And he couldn’t fight. If Nightingale found out he’d been fighting she’d confine him to the infirmary for at least a week. And Da Vinci wasn’t there either. She’d be in the command center, just in case something went wrong with the Rayshift . . . the Rayshift. Gudako was Rayshifting to Babylonia today. He’d forgotten, how had he forgotten? He should be in there, just in case he was needed, but what could he do but be a nuisance? He couldn’t help them like this.

He headed towards the infirmary. Maybe Nightingale had the test results back. Maybe he really was allergic, he almost hoped he was. Allergies seemed so much easier to deal with then . . . then . . . liking someone. But Nightingale, if she saw him like this, then . . . then he would be stuck in the infirmary for sure. He did not want to be stuck in the infirmary. He needed something to help him calm down. A distraction, a distraction so this possibility could sink in and he could think of it rationally. Or never think of it again. 

A game would work. Or a puzzle. Or a crossword. Something where he could bend his thoughts away from the possibility that crouched in his mind. He wandered the halls in a daze, not sure where exactly he was going. It somehow seemed better then standing still, as if standing still would allow the full brunt of what he’d read to slam down upon his shoulders. Perhaps he should go back to the library, research a bit more. It was silly to draw a conclusion from one source. But the idea of going back to Medusa’s knowing gaze was too daunting. And Shakespeare was in there, Shakespeare who drifted around Chaldea’s hallways looking for gossip for his plays. 

Kotarou didn’t even want to think about what the playwright would do if he found out about . . . about this.

Liking someone . . . loving someone, it seemed all too messy. Something he couldn’t control, couldn’t plan for, couldn’t predict. The very thought made panic beat a tattoo against his throat. How was he supposed to cope with holding someone above all others, especially above Gudako? She was his Master, in battle he was supposed to be focused on her and her orders, nobody else. As long as she was okay, then nothing else mattered. Oh no. No no no no no. It had already happened. He’d picked Proto over her in that battle with  _ him.  _ Yes, Proto had been in danger, but no doubt the Lancer would have been able to break free once the shock had left his system. Yes, saving Proto had been what led to their success, but what if it hadn’t? Any one of those shadows could have broken through Mash’s defenses and slaughtered Gudako while he’d been focused on the wrong person. In a battlefield as chaotic as that would have been plausible. They had been so lucky that it hadn’t.

He’d chosen Proto over Gudako. He’d chosen his . . . friend over his Master. It had all worked out but what if it hadn’t - he could have signed the world’s end with that one decision. No, he couldn’t think like that. There had been so many times in their Rayshifts where things could have gone drastically different. And . . . and saving Proto had led to  _ his  _ death, and losing another fighter in the midst of that chaos would have signed their death warrant.

He’d made the right choice.

He had to have made the right choice.

And it had nothing to do with the tight feeling that filled his chest when he thought of Proto dying. A tight, uncomfortable, painful feeling, so much more unpleasant than the warmth from earlier today. Last night. When he’d last seen Proto. Or thought about their snuggles. He was . . . glad with his choice. But the very idea that he had chosen Proto in the heat of the moment terrified him. He wasn’t supposed to choose with his . . . with his . . . with his . . . heart, or gut, or instinct. He was supposed to make the hard decisions in battle, the ones Gudako couldn’t. If he couldn’t do that because he was too focused on Proto then . . .

No, he would just have to make sure that it would never happen again. 

“Oh Fuuma! Wassap? What are you doing in this section of Chaldea?”

He blinked out of his racing thoughts, staring at the person in front of him. Marie, in a cheerful summer dress and a hat perched upon her head. 

“Ah . . . Marie?” He glanced around. He’d travelled quite a distance, he was closer to one of the lounge areas now. Servants threaded through the hallway, talking in amongst themselves about the Babylonian Singularity. Kotaoru fought the urge to listen in. He had too many problems to think about right now. 

She blinked at him. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little bit pale.”

Kotarou stared at her. Marie was good at relationships, at least he’d heard she was good at them. Not that he was . . . Proto . . . relationship . . . uuuh. But . . . he was getting nowhere trying to figure this out on his own. He ducked his head and toed the floor. “Ah . . . could we . . . ah . . . talk for a bit? I . . . ah . . . think I might need your help with . . . ah . . . something.”

He’d never been in Marie’s room before, and it felt less like a bedroom and more like . . . he wasn’t even sure. The chairs for her table were elaborate sculpted and had ornate cushions. The carpet was plush beneath his feat. The bed had a large quilt, too many pillows, and a canopy. Less an average bedroom, and more of a royal bedroom mixed with a greeting room, all extravagance and comfort. It was hard to feel silly about panicking over something so arbitrary when looking at his surroundings. But at least the tea was good.

“So, Fuuma,” Marie said, pouring some sugar into her own cup, “what’s bothering you?”

His gut was churning. His palms were sweating. He took a shaky sip of his tea. “Do you . . . ah . . . do you promise not to tell anyone?”

She waved one hand. “I always promise not to share the sources of my gossip.”

“No.” He set his tea down and stared at her. She hesitated at his gaze, a small frown crossing her face. “I need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

Marie’s cheerful look fell from her face, a serious one replacing it. She crossed her legs, her blue eyes fixed on his. “I promise you, on my honor as Queen of France, that whatever you say shall not cross the barrier of my door.” 

He nodded. “Ah . . . good.”

Her face softened. “So what’s the matter Fuuma?”

He hesitated, bit his lip. He didn’t have to tell her. He could just tuck this possible revelation away and never face it again. But . . . he couldn’t. He enjoyed being Proto’s friend too much, enjoyed his company too much to just ignore whatever it was that was happening to him. And as for Rayshifts, how could he be expected to fight by Proto’s side when he couldn’t even sort this out? “I . . . ah . . . I think that I . . . ah . . .that there is the possibility I have fallen in love with someone. And I . . . ah . . . do not know what to do now.”

“Confess of course!” She burst out, a smile brightening her features. “Ah, young love, just what Chaldea needs! A sign that the future is not dim and grew, a beacon of hope in the battle field! Feelings blossoming in the wake of despair, giving growth to new life . . . oh how it makes my heart sing!” Her smile, if possible, grew even brighter. “I am so happy for you!”

Kotarou sunk back into his seat, heat flaring across his face. “Ah . . . no. I’m not . . . ah . . . it's just a possibility! I could be . . . allergic . . . or something else.” The excuses sounded weak, and he could see the disbelief written across Marie’s face. “I don’t know!”

“Oh, that is a problem.” She tapped the table and considered him carefully. “But you think you might like this person?”

Kotarou nodded miserably.

“Hmm, I see.” She tilted her head. “How does this person make you feel?”

Gah . . . he didn’t want to face that. Somehow, the idea of putting it into words and speaking it aloud made the thought harder to refute. But . . . he was trying to figure this out, and if he stopped now, he would never be able to go back. The only path was forwards. He licked his lips and forced out the words. “Ah . . . happy? Warm and . . . ah . . . comfortable. Safe. Ah . . . nice. Being with them is . . . nice.”

She nodded like this was a perfectly reasonable response. “All good things. Anything else?”

“Sick . . . but . . . ah . . . in a good way.” He couldn’t look at her. He sounded so, so stupid. Stupid and confused.

But she continued nodding as if nothing was wrong. “Mhm. Do you want to kiss them?”

Kotarou froze. Kissing. Proto. He wasn’t . . . what would it even be like? He liked . . . snuggling with Proto . . . but a kiss . . . He tried to imagine it. His face hurt. “I . . . would be willing to try.” He mumbled. He couldn’t look Marie in the face, so he took a gulp of tea instead. It burned on the way down, but at least the pain distracted him from the heat in his cheeks.

Marie giggled. “And snuggling? Or cuddling? Or hand holding. Or just being close to them in general?”

“Hai.” He squeaked out. 

Marie’s giggle’s burst into laughter, a light, tinkling kind. “I am going to assume by the blush on your face that you like that idea very much.” She leaned forwards, tea in one hand, her chin in the palm of the other. “I am fairly certain that I can say you do like this person.” 

“But . . . ah . . . how?” He blurted out. “This is . . . we are . . . it’s . . .” He gave up and stared at his tea.

She sighed. “If this was a Holy Grail War, then I would agree with you. Falling in love would have been a very bad idea. But it's not!” She set her tea down with a decisive snap and stood, her hair flying around her face. “We are saving the world, but we can only do that as time allows! With any other Master, we would have been forced into Spirit Form and used as tools, no time for leisure or bonding with others. But in the atmosphere Gudako has created, things are changing!” She set her hand on her heart and beamed brightly. “Heroes from all walks of life are meeting each other, forming rivalries, friendships, and relationships! Just think of some of the groups around Chaldea! My own Gossip Gang is run by no other than me, the Greek hero Achilles, and the oldest version of the Child of Light. The Chaos Crew is a mess of British knights, Irish lancers, Greek heroes, and whomever needs a spar to get out some energy! A saint, a spartan king, and the hero of an epic poem teaching normal humans self defense! The kitchen crew consisted of two foxes, a counter guardian, a Celtic queen, a woman dedicated to slaying oni! There are so many opportunities that we would have never had in any other situation. Is it such a stretch to believe that you might have developed feelings for someone?”

Kotarou opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know what to say.

Her smile turned into something softer. “There is no shame in having feelings for someone Fuuma. And even if you choose not to act on those feelings now, know that there is always the possibility to do so in the future. Gudako is going to save the world. I believe in our master’s capabilities, we haven’t gone this far just to fail. And after that, we have a chance at a second life! No doubt some will choose to return to the throne, but there are many others who will wish to experience what the world has to offer. You have time to figure out what you want to do about this.”

Kotarou looked down at his tea, but he wasn’t seeing it. He was seeing Proto, dangling from  _ his  _ hand. He was feeling  _ his  _ kunai driven into his neck. He was hearing Proto’s desperate, scared voice as he clung to him in his room. Did he have time? Either one of them could die in the days to come. That was simply the truth of the world they existed in. But Marie was also right, there was so much more freedom in his choices. Which meant . . . what?

“Ah . . . thank you.” He set the tea down. “I . . . ah . . . appreciate the advice.”

She giggled and sat down. “Of course I still say you should tell them.” Her eyes grew misty, staring into the distance. “Make a big deal of it, show them just how much you care through orchestrating your confession. But in the end, it's up to you.”

He bit his lip and nodded carefully.

“I do have one question though, if I may ask.”

“Ah . . . hai. Go ahead.”

“Who is it?”

He hesitated, then mumbled, “Proto.” 

Marie froze, her eyes very wide. Her face twisted, her lips contorted, trying and failing to look nonchalant. “I think,” She managed, her voice wavering, “that if you do tell him that, well, I would hate to spoil it for you.”

Kotarou stared at her. “Ah . . .”

She raised her cup of tea and beamed. “Viva la France~!”

For a moment he just stared at her. She stared at him in return, her gaze expectant. So, he picked up his own cup and copied her gesture, her words swimming around and around in his head. “Ah . . . Viva la France?”

  
He retreated to his room. It was the only place he could think of going to with his thoughts awhirl like this. He . . . liked . . . Proto. It didn’t want to make sense in his head, the words aligning with the reluctance of magnets with the same pole. He . . . liked . . . Proto. But the evidence was there, lined up neatly in front of him. The book. Marie’s, a supposed expert on love, words. The lack of anything wrong with him physically. He . . . liked . . . Proto. He . . . liked . . . Proto. He . . . liked . . . Proto. He tasted the words on his tongue. “I . . . like . . . Proto.”

Hysteria tried to force its way up. He fought it back down and made a cup of tea, then curled up under his kotatsu. The tachi watched him from the wall, circled by his weapons collection. The tachi Proto had given him. The sight made warmth bloom in his chest and helped soothe some of the hysteria away.

He liked Proto. 

He more than liked Proto.

That was the conclusion the evidence led to, but he couldn’t understand how he had allowed himself to go that far, how that had ended up happening. He set his tea down, pulled out his notebook and pencil. He more than liked Proto, but why? How? He couldn’t understand the concept without knowing how he got there, couldn’t connect the words inside his brain without the building blocks that made them. He flipped to a new page in his notebook, past all the crosswords and mazes and diagrams and lists and half finished doodles of things he’d found in reference books. He rubbed the graphite tip of the pencil against his thumb, staring at the back sheet. Finally, he put pencil to paper.

_ Things I like about Proto: _

_ He is reliable. _

_ He is friendly. _

_ He is funny. _

_ He cares. _

_ He is able to see past what I have done. _

_ He sees me. _

_ He is smarter than he likes to act. _

_ I know where I stand with him. _

_ He has a nice laugh. _

_ And a nice grin. _

_ He doesn’t let fear control him. _

_ He gives good hugs. _

_ He is more complex than he first appears to be. _

_ He fights well. _

_ He understands what it is like to make mistakes while being unable to take them back. _

_ His presence is comforting. _

_ The way he says my name. _

_ His energy. _

_ His calm moments. _

_ The way he looks in the morning when he’s watching the sun rise. _

_ The fact that he listens to my problems. _

_ The fact he tries to help. _

_ He promised to be there for me no matter what, and I feel like he actually means it. _

_ His reactions to the horror movie were funny. _

_ Snuggling with him was nice. _

_ His expressive face. _

_ He makes me laugh _

_ He _

Kotarou stopped. Slowly, he set the pencil down. It clicked against the wood of his kotatsu. He reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed his tea, took a sip, then a gulp. There it was, the building blocks, and with that list, still not finished, staring up at him the words snapped together in his mind like they were magnetized properly. He liked Proto. He more than liked Proto, and the thought of being more than friends sent a tingle throughout his body that he didn’t quite understand but thought he liked nonetheless. He more than liked Proto. It was a fizzy thing, and made his hair stand on end and a smile fight its way across his face and his fingers twitch. He more than liked Proto. 

So what was he going to do about it?

He stared blankly at his list. Marie had suggested confessing, but where would that go? If Proto didn’t feel the same way, then there was a chance that their friendship would be ruined. And that would be disastrous, not only for their friendship, but for their Rayshift group. Proto and him worked well together, but that would be thrown off balance if there was strife between them. Kotarou had seen that happen too many times in his clan, where failed relationships got in the way of orders. And it would be doubly disastrous now, they couldn’t have a falling out at this moment, there was too much at stake.

He could simply not tell him. It would probably hurt for a while, but they could still remain friends. He was good at locking things away until they disappeared . . . but . . . would that affect their friendship as well? He could try to act normal, but Proto was observant, and if he thought something was going on, then he would ask questions. And if one of them died in the next couple of Rayshifts . . . he wasn’t sure how he would react. Yes, there was always the possibility of being Resummoned, but it wouldn’t be the same Proto. And if it was him that died, then he wouldn’t be the same Kotarou. Each summons was different after all, he wasn’t sure if these feelings would translate well.

Kotarou took a sip of tea, then picked up his pencil, twirling it between his fingers. His gaze drifted up to the wall, where the tachi shone in all its glory. He felt a surge of warmth, lighting up his insides. Affection. What an odd word, he would have to get used to it.

He would tell Proto. Hiding this might hurt their friendship, and if the Lancer felt the same then . . . things could only get better. And if he didn’t, Kotarou could box up these feelings and put them away until they withered. He set his pencil down, ignoring the shake through his limbs. Scared. He was scared, and worried about how this would go. But if he waited, he would second guess himself, and then he would fold. He drained the last of his tea, and stood. He was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. He would change, and then he would go find Proto. 

For the first time, he wished his closet had a more extensive selection of clothing. Most of his closet was taken up by jeans and cargo pants, hoodies and tank tops and t-shirts, and one or two sweaters. He didn’t know what clothes were ideal for a confession. Well put together, he assumed. Something that he looked good in. He didn’t know, and that gap in his knowledge gnawed at him.

He decided to take a shower first so he could have time to figure it out. It didn’t help. With each passing moment his stomach was getting tighter and tighter. He was sick with nerves. His hands shook as he scrubbed his hair. What if’s plagued his mind. He cut the shower short, no time to stand and think, just get washed then get dried. He redid his bandages with methodical movements. In a day or two he would be completely healed and ready to Rayshift again. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. In . . . then out. In . . . then out. In . . . then out. It helped a bit. He was trying to distract himself from what he was going to do. It wasn’t working. His heart pounded too loud in his ears.

He almost spent too long trying to figure out what to wear. In the end, he simply grabbed a few things from his closet and put them on. A pair of jeans, a bit faded from use. A sweatshirt a size too big for him, dark with red designs decorating the sleeves and sides. This would work as well as anything in his closet. 

He closed his eyes and stood there, in the middle of his room. He heard his heartbeat thudding in his ears, his breath as it whooshed through his lungs. He watched the lights play against his eyelids, tracing blue and green and purple patterns across the blackness. He felt the slightly chilly Chaldean air against his face, the sting in his cheeks from his flush. He opened his eyes slowly.

He was ready.

Calm descended upon him as he walked down Chaldea’s halls, ignoring the staff and Servants that passed by him. It was the same calm that fell upon his shoulders with every battle except that one with  _ him.  _ A cold calm, smothering the burning ember of nerves in his chest. He’d made his choice, had his plan of action. There was no turning back now.

He’d felt like this before, when picking up the oni’s mask for the first time. That undeniable feeling of “this is what I have to do, no matter what comes next”, the cold certainty that came with taking matters into his own hands. But this was better than then. This would not lead to death and strife.

He thought, just perhaps, that he was . . . hopeful. It was a nice feeling.

The calm persisted as he searched. Proto was not in the cafeteria, nor was he in any of the training rooms or entertainment rooms. He was not in the library, or near the lounge, or in the control center. Finally, Kotarou found himself in the wing dedicated to bedrooms. Back where he’d come from, he had been leaving it for last. If Proto was here, and things went wrong, then his room wasn’t far away and he could hide.

He started down the hallway, fingers locked behind him. His breath came slowly, calm and even. He stopped in front of Proto’s door, staring at the nameplate on its surface. Silver as the walls, the letter’s of Proto’s name typed in plain script. The name tags were optional, Kotarou didn’t have one, but he was unsurprised that Proto did. He felt the corner of his lips pull up slightly.

He took a deep breath. There were three presences in Proto’s room, he could hear the rise and fall of voices. One was definitely Proto, and he felt a thrill of warmth shoot through him. Cu and Alter were most likely the extra two, CasCu was on rotation today. He would be in Babylonia. Kotarou raised his hand to knock, then stopped. He had his Presence Concealment up, he hadn’t even noticed turning it on. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then dropped his Presence Concealment. He knocked, once, twice, then stepped back, fingers locked behind him once again.

There was a brief pause. The murmur of voices, the shift as someone got up, footsteps against the ground, then the door opened.

Proto stood there, in a loose white tee and sweatpants. His silver necklace glittered in the light, a wolf grasping a crescent moon in his jaws. His hair was a snarled mess, out of its usual ponytail, tangling past his shoulders. His red eyes grew wide, blazing bright with surprise. He stumbled back, red flashing across his cheeks, touching the tips of his ears. “Kotarou?” His name was a squeaked out word. Disbelieving and desperate all at once.

Kotarou felt his resolve quake, his calm crack. He wrestled it back into place, swallowing the lump in his throat and fought the heat that touched his cheeks. He bit his lip, nodded. “Hai . . . It's . . . ah . . . it's me.”

Proto made an inarticulate sound in his throat.

Kotarou fought a smile. “Ah . . . is now a good time to talk?”

“Yeah.” The word was rushed out. Proto stepped into the hallway, slamming his door shut behind him. Kotarou caught a glimpse of Cu leaning forwards, a pained expression on his face while Alter held him back by the ponytail before his view was cut off. Proto rubbed his hair awkwardly, grinned. “So, what do you need?”

Kotarou chewed on his lip. “Ah . . . we need to talk somewhere . . . private, if possible.” Somewhere away from prying ears and eyes.

Proto blinked at him, then nodded. “Okay.” He hesitated, his hand dropped to his side and found a home in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Where too?” This time the grin was crooked and curious.

Kotarou glanced around, thinking. Inspiration hit. “Let’s go outside.”

Snow swirled, dancing flakes disappearing into the white. The sky was, as always, overcast, but the snow wasn’t falling as thickly as normal. A gentle snowfall instead of the normal blizzard. His feet sunk into the fresh powder with every step, cold biting through his shoes. He turned around, ignoring the biting wind and bitter cold, and stared at Proto. The Lancer’s hair was being yanked by the wind, white flakes feathered his blue hair. Beneath his bare feet, the snow was starting to melt. Kotarou huffed a small laugh. His breath blossomed in front of him before being whipped away. “So . . .” He trailed off and chewed his lip. His calm from earlier was attempting to drain through his shoes. 

Proto laughed awkwardly, the sound spiraling through the air. “So,” He grinned, red eyes shining, “what did you want to talk about?”

Kotarou shifted slightly. “I . . . have something to tell you.” He hesitated again, swallowed hard. Suddenly, saying ‘I more than like you’ sounded ridiculous. But Proto was there, eyes going from curious to worried, snow melting against his skin and sticking to his hair. Kotarou chewed the inside of his cheek, sucked in a deep breath of bitter air. “I . . .” He closed his eyes. Forwards, not backwards. He had made his choice, and he would follow through with it. “I like you.” 

Proto froze, red eyes very wide.

Kotarou licked his lips and glanced at his hands. It was easier that way, to not see Proto’s face while he spoke. “Ah . . . which should be . . . ah, well, friends like their friends, right? But I . . . ah . . . I think I like you in a more-than-friend-way, although there is a chance I might simply be allergic to you or something you are wearing or using but that is highly unlikely. So I thought you should know that I . . . more than like you.” He glanced up through his bangs. “If . . . ah . . . that makes sense.”

Proto hadn’t moved, his jaw hung open, his face was dappled with red. The flush spread, across his cheeks, across his ears, till it looked like his whole face had been exposed to the sun for too long. “You -” He squeaked out, his voice the highest Kotarou had ever heard, “You like me?”

Kotarou nodded.

“YOU LIKE ME?!” This time the words were a screech of disbelief.

“Hai.” He tilted his chin up and met Proto’s wide eyes. “I like you.”

Proto made a small noise in the back of his throat. “Oh.” Then again, louder. “Oh. I - uh - oh Lugh -”

Kotarou took a small step back. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way, and I am -”

“NO!” Proto lunged forwards. His hands grasped Kotarou’s shoulders, and Kotarou could feel the heat through his sweatshirt, alluring in this cold. Proto bent down slightly, warmth breath gusting over Kotarou’s skin. His eyes were burning, there were snowflakes caught on his lashes, and his skin gleamed where the snow had struck it. His forehead rested gently against Kotarou’s own. “Kotarou I -” He broke off, laughing, something wild and carefree. “By Lugh, I don’t believe it. I don’t - please, Kotarou, you’re being serious, right?” His eyes searched Kotarou’s face, desperate and . . . hopeful?

Kotarou bit his lip and nodded. “Hai. I would not joke about something like this.”

Proto closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. That’s good.” He breathed in deeply, opened his eyes again. Kotarou could see the ring of black around the red, the different shades that made up his eyes. It made them look multifaceted, like a ruby. Ruby eyes. “I have something to say to you too.”

Kotarou’s heart stuttered to a halt.

Proto closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He opened his eyes, brilliant and bright. “Fuuma Kotarou,” he said softly, his voice very warm, “I have been in love with you for the longest time. I’ve known it since sometime after America. You know that one Rayshift where it was snowing and I ran into a golem’s fist? Yeah, that was me, too busy watching you to pay attention to anything else.” He chuckled softly. “That was when I knew that I liked you, and I thought, I don’t know, that it would just go away with time. But it didn’t. With each day, with each Rayshift, I just got to see more of how wonderful you are.”

Kotarou couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, was just held there by Proto’s ruby eyes and his gentle grip and his words. His words . . . they didn’t want to click. He licked his lips nervously. “You . . . ah . . . you like me back?”

“Yeah.” There was a wild tone of delight in that single word. “Yeah.” Proto began to grin, wide and joyous. “I like you back.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say. There was a warmth buzzing through his veins, his cheeks hurt, both from blushing and . . . a smile. He was smiling. He didn’t remember choosing to smile. “I’m glad.” Something occurred to him. He swallowed hard. “Ah . . . you said . . . love.”

Proto laughed, deep and joyous and happy, so, so happy. “Yes, yes I did!” His grin widened, all bright white teeth and glowing eyes. One of his hands left Kotarou’s shoulder to trace his cheek. “I love you, Fuuma Kotarou.” He said the words incredibly softly.

Kotarou reached out and grabbed Proto’s t-shirt for stability. The world was tipping under his feet, impossible, improbable, but he had heard those words. He giggled. When was the last time he’d been this happy? He wasn’t sure he knew. “I think I want a hug now. And . . . ah . . . more snuggling. I liked that.” 

Proto just beamed and wrapped his arms around Kotarou’s back. Kotarou returned the embrace, smiling into Proto’s shoulder, feeling the heat of the hug sink into his bones. He dug his fingers into Proto’s shirt and just stood there, enjoying the moment. Proto’s face was pressed against his hair. He couldn’t see the Lancer’s grin but he knew it had to be there. “Kotarou,” Proto murmured, and Kotarou could feel the words as they rumbled through his chest, “We can snuggle all you want.”

“Good.” Kotarou closed his eyes, humming softly. This was good, better than good. Wait - he opened his eyes. “Proto?”

“Yeah?” There was still a note of delight in his voice, even though it was muffled by Kotaoru’s hair.

“Marie said something about kissing.” He shifted his head and Proto pulled back slightly, eyes wide. “And I was . . . am curious as to . . . ah . . . I think I would like to try.” He bit his lip.

“You talked to Marie?”

“Hai, she was very helpful.”

Proto just blinked at him, then red started to color his face again. “I - can I?”

Kotarou nodded. “Hai.”

Proto burst out into a beaming smile. He reached up with one hand to cup Kotarou’s face, fingers hot against his skin. “Are you ready?”

Kotarou considered for a moment. His heart was beating in his throat. Proto knew how he felt and felt the same way towards him. He was in Proto’s arms, warm and comfortable and . . . loved. Loved. “Hai.”

Proto, with infinite care, leaned forwards, eyes fluttering shut. Kotarou copied the movement, then Proto’s lips were on his, warm and soft and all too real. It was gentle, not demanding, but it felt like a current shot through him at the touch. His toes curled in his shoes, his fingers tightened in Proto’s shirt. Proto pulled back, not far. His breath skittered across Kotarou’s lips. Kotarou opened his eyes to see Proto watching him, eyes bright. “Well,” His voice was soft, nearly whipped away by the wind, “did you like it?”

“Hai.” And he grabbed Proto’s collar and pulled him down for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SMOKES IT'S DONE AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Okay I’m done screaming now. ANYWAY I would just like to thank everyone (again) for commenting and leaving kudos! And reading through this whole thing, whether you picked it up in the beginning, in the middle, or after it was finished! Thanks for sticking with me! No, seriously you peeps are the best.  
> So! Notes about the future! I’m stopping hinting at CasCu’s tragic singularity experience ™ and am going to start writing it next! That’s right, we’re going back to Singularity F people. Expect shenanigans, CasCu being very tired of everything, and most of all, Shadow!Emiya! (who I really need to finalize a name for because if I end up calling him Shademiya I think I’m gonna sob.) And after that I should begin working on Fran’s and Mordred’s story (it got pushed back because shenanigans, but they’re good shenanigans I swear.) as for what will be replacing Incorrect Quotes, well . . . I gave you a hint last chapter *cackles*  
> Finally, because I love these two, I will be writing something else for them in the future entirely unconnected to the Servants Shenanigans series. Just thought you all should know!  
> Thanks so much for reading and I hope you all have the very best of days!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my brother, who did not come up with this around Halloween, but only thought this up earlier this week, we now have Fuuma Catarou. I am sorry for not seeing that sooner.  
> Also, absolutely not important, but I do want to note that Jack has pants and the Lion King has her first ascension armor + third ascension armor for her horse + third ascension lance. Because I am a sucker for cool armor designs.


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